


Arms

by Kailany_Aurora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailany_Aurora/pseuds/Kailany_Aurora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the whispers to console the sobs. The hope that still remained that brings him back. Because though the body may have forgotten the mind remembers everything. It remember's electric blue and callouses and the beat of a heart filled with life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I whisper, why can't you love me?

His breath came out in tight clenches until his body seized straight up in a tight toss of limbs as if a puppeteer was controlling him. The young man let out a groan of pain as he wiped the precipitation from along his face. His head dropped to his knees as he fought for control of his own breath, he was so tired of fighting on his own, but it seemed no-one was there to bring him out. It had been years and it seemed that dreams of a sleepy town and electric blue eyes still haunted him. 

He could still feel the doubts of the decision that he had made but deep in the corners of his mind he knew it was the best. He knew the game of wolf and sheep had been slowly killing him. His uncertain position in the pack caused him a deep depression until it seemed almost impossible for him to manage the smallest of smiles. His light had slowly been killed by the alpha, by Derek. Derek with his mouth of anger, his fingers of lust, and his eyes of pity. Derek who was never his three years ago and never would be his now.

It was simple at first to begin his extraction from the town, from the pack. The odd box of clothes that just didn't fit him any more and hey if he kept this up he'd be taller than Jackson, the ever present dinner dates with his dad because come on guys he rarely ever saw him, the need to actually do good on his SATS because said Dad was even scarier than Derek when pissed. Stiles had always been smart perhaps not to the degree of Lydia but when he applied himself he knew that his intelligence bordered on more than just cheat codes and pizza toppings. It wasn't hard for him to get an almost perfect score in turn receiving a full ride to the University of Florida, all the way on the other side of the country. 

What was hard was convincing his Dad that no matter how much any of his friends even Scott begged he could not say where he was going to school. Though he was in limbo of his place there was one sure thing that the bites aligned through out his body told him, he was still in some degree Derek's for however long the alpha decided so. The easy part was dodging Scotts questioning look when he showed up at six in the morning two hours before his flight in his room. He just grinned and held up his key. The hard part was leaving that key on the dresser as Scott laughed and turned around saying he'd go over later for some video games. The easy part was entertaining himself with countless action movies and books on werewolf lore for the entire flight. The hard part was ignoring every call: ignoring Scott's desperation, Lydia's anger, Jackson's authority, Danny's understanding, and Alison's worry, the hardest part was never receiving one from Derek.

He loved his new home in many ways, it was a quaint old town that revolved completely around the University, and all the bars and good places to eat were located right across the street. And the majority of the people had nice broad grins that matched the one that Stiles had. It was peaceful, it was nice, and it had nothing that went bump in the night. For the majority of his years he kept to himself, he had a large amount of acquaintances but it stopped there. He was friendly enough that he got invited to the toga parties on Frat road, or to go canoeing at Lake Walberg, even the occasional party in the woods. But he never let anyone reach him; they knew the basics Stiles Stilinski, Business major, 21 years of age. It was all they needed to know, they didn't have to understand why he never went home during the winter and summer breaks, why he refused to ever sleep in a double, how he spent hours upon hours staring at the moon, and how any guy he took home was always tall and burly with black hair and dark eyes.

"Stilinski!"

He stuck out his head from behind the bar and watched as Mrs. Wilson waved him over. He wiped his hands on the knees of his pants and walked over a silly grin on his face because god did he love this old lady. She owned one of the best bars in Gainesville and though graying and being filled with wrinkles she struck fear into even the craziest of drunken college students. The bar had been in her family for almost forty years and she treated it with the fierce determination that he was sure extended to her parenting.

"Yeah Mrs. Wilson?"

"Boy how many times do I have to tell you to call me Abbie?" 

She smiled as she cleaned a beer mug. The way she glanced at him over her glasses gave him the impression of the bar tender in movies that was always filled with words of wisdom for the patrons.

"Sorry Mrs. Abbie " He grinned fluttering his eyelashes over dramatically.

"I guess that'll have to do. Boy when was the last time you went out on a weekend?"

"Since I started working here."

"Exactly. You're a college boy, 21 years old all you should be doing right now is blasting that old radio, sipping on a beer, and falling in love with every pretty little thing that tickles your fancy." He internally cringed at the mention of love but just laughed instead.

"I'm scheduled to work weekends though."

"Yes I know, and while every single of my other employees have asked me for the occasional Saturday night off, in the past four months you have come to work every single night."

Stiles blushed prettily, a quality that seemed he would never be rid of no matter how old. "I go out on Fridays every now and again."

She stuck an eyebrow up and Stiles found himself increasingly jealous he had never learned to pull the sarcastic eye brow raise no matter how much he stood in front of his mirror and willed it to lift.

"Don't give me that horse shit, you're old enough to be my son Stiles and I can tell when one of my boys is just going through the motions, when he's forgot what living is all about."

"Hey!" His voice was filled with a defensive anger. "I go out, I'm just not as wild as every typical UF student."

"No you don't, I've asked. " She responded matter of factily. There was a long pause in which she kept cleaning mugs and Stiles sputtered through expressions before deciding that openly gaping would do. "Do you like working here?"

"Um. Is this a trick question?" He asked. 

Of course he loved working here it was one of the most popular bars on campus so his pay and tips were always great, he had an awesome boss, and his co-workers were completely all right people. Mrs. Abbie placed her beer mug harshly on the counter before staring straight at him. Her eyes were a deep green that reminded him of the forests of Beacon Hills and every now and again when the lighting was just right golden flecks would be seen along the iris, they were great eyes as far as Stiles was concerned.

"No it's not a trick question. I'm making a rule for you, you need to go and confront whatever it is that's keeping you from living if you want to continue working at this bar." Stiles once again felt himself doing an academy award winning impressions of a Goldfish

"WHAT?" He spluttered.

"I know you aren't taking any classes this summer, so I'm willing to pay you exactly what you would usually get in your neck two pay checks as long as you get out of this town. People love this place for many different reasons, memories, the atmosphere, but you only love it because it's safe."  
Stiles gulped, if werewolves existed maybe it was possible that telepaths existed as well.

"That's unreason . . ." He was cut off by a sharp hand that cupped itself over his mouth.

"That's my logic boy, now come on you're not working tonight go wherever you need to and deal with whatever monster you have to, you have a month. Don't disappoint me."

"But Mrs. Abbie." He didn't get to finish that sentence because he swore he hadn't seen such a scary experience in years.

" Don't sass me boy, get to it."

There was another quality that it seemed that the young man would never rid of himself and that was the fact that he usually never thought about the words that were coming out his mouth. " Why do you even care?" He bit the insides of his cheeks once he had finished the sentence realizing how untactful it had been and that he would for sure get fired now.

She breathed easily as if expecting this. "I had a nephew, Kevin he attended school here with the hopes of becoming a lawyer one day. He fell absolutely head over heels in love with this pretty little Hispanic bird, she was a blaze of beauty and dark waves, bracelets jangling every time she moved, and the light of the sun transcending the sky into her smile. And he let her pass, he allowed his own personal demons to ruin his happiness and when she died of cancer she took his very heart with her to the grave. You remind me of Kevin, a perfect little actor in this world, no-one noticed the listlessness in his eyes, the shadows clogging him, but soon enough he couldn't be that perfect little actor and he grew bitter and cold. He left school and enlisted in the army, on the two year anniversary of her death he died in battle, coincidence? Maybe." The way she said the final word convinced Stiles that she didn't believe it was just a coincidence that her nephew had died on that day.

"Okay." She smiled at him before turning and going into the back room.

Later on Stiles would blame his mom for giving him his sappy overly emotional heart and would reason that was the only reason that he was calling his dad.

"Hey Dad, yeah I know. Umm I'm going home tonight, I'll call you to pick me up."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He ended the call placed the phone into his back pocket and ran his hands viciously through his hair and face.

He was fucked.


	2. Faces

It's not so much a pressure as the destructive collapse of a dam swirling him that he feels in his heart as his flight lands. It's the dreams that he's hidden in the second drawer all come back to life. It's the moment he imagined whenever a song came out that reminded him of home. It's the story line he acted out numerous times, the script that he perfected. It's the realization that even three years later he's still the same. He's still the boy in love with a man evermore, and a sheep in a pack of wolves. He grabs the strap of his messenger bag tight hoping that f he just steps one at a time if he just pretends for a bit more then he can get through this.

He steps out looking for his dad in a crowd of people and just as always he's there standing like a beacon, nothing extraordinary compared to any other man but a pillar of strength for Stiles. Calm and steady in the bustling of peoples, the hurried "sorry" of bags hitting the side of strangers. He stands with his palms open and reaching tentatively for Stiles. He runs to him and lets his father's embrace engulf him the strong scent of gunpowder and peppermint making his nose tickle. It's back to being five years old for a moment when his father would pick him up and throw him on his shoulders, when he reached up to the sky and begged that his dad would spin, giggling insanely hands held out because he knew he would never fall, because he knew he was invincible. If only he wishes.

"How have you been?"

He smiles up at his Dad knowing that he was never an expert when it came to feelings. After all the only way to get anything out of the man was to get him pissed drunk a feat that Stiles would never attempt again.

"I've been good Dad." 

He saw the sheriff nod his head, the slight down turn of his lips telling him that though he didn't buy it for a second he would not press. Stiles knew he wouldn't after all he never questioned his actions years ago.

It's a bit of a drive from the city to their small sleepy town but Stiles enjoys the stillness of the drive the security that he still feels. They pull up into the driveway nothing is different from what he left. His little lady still looks like she's in tip top shame and he beams over at his dad before jumping out of the still in motion car. He doesn't catch the roll of the eyes from his dad signifying that something's just never really change. He's at his jeep's side within second flopping over the hood of it and basically crooning.

"Oh how I miss you Lucy." He nods reverently as if the jeep was speaking back to him.

"Shhh, it's okay Daddy's home, I promise I'll take you on a nice long drive girl."

"You know it's just a je -." Sheriff Stilinski doesn't even get to finish the sentence as Stiles glares up at him.

"Silence human. She has feelings too!" He turns his brown doe eyed eyes back onto the car and continues to murmur sweet words like a parent to a child.

The sheriff gives a large bellow laugh that moves his frame and shakes his head thinking that perhaps his son would be all right after all.

Stiles enters the home and smiles to himself. The knife marks by the entrance to the kitchen where they recorded his height since he was old enough to stand are still there, the small blood stain on the side of the couch from when he broke his head because playing jump rope in a compressed room is a very intelligent idea, yeah it's still home. He walks into the kitchen and finds his dad looking through the fridge. He comes out with two beers and hands one to him.

"Um. Dad?" 

Was this a trick, did he find out that he had purposely gotten him drunk for information all those years ago. Oh God it had to be that he was so screwed he thought.

"Stiles, I'm not an idiot. You're a grown man already I'm sure you've had your shares of beers since you've been away son."

He shakes the beer again in front of his face and chuckles at the deer caught in the headlights expression on his little boy's face.

"Cool. Awesome. I really am a super cool responsible adult now Dad."

"Don't make me regret my decision."

"Yes sir."

They head off into the living room and watch some of their favorite action movies; a hour or so later they order pizza. It's nice the companionship of his dad after so long without him. To whoop at the badass hit and jumps that the heroes' make to groan at the gore, it's like his childhood Sunday nights all over again.

Two movies later they say good nights and Stiles is left with nothing but his thoughts. His bed still creeks the same when he turns, the posters on the wall still depict all his old interests, maybe if he just stays within the confines of his house he will be safe. There really isn't any reason for the pack to realize that he's home after all these years. Even if they were to pass by the house his scent probably has changed so much that they wouldn't recognize it. Though the whole point of this journey is to confront them it wasn't like he couldn't wait a week till he was sure he wouldn't piss himself in fright to go about it. After all it's not like his dad would call Scott and tell him he's back, right?

So no his Dad wouldn't tell Scott he's back actually he would do something much more cruel and vindictive. He would leave Stiles home and alone and most importantly with no food. And he would take his car with Stiles suitcase and money with him to work. But he would leave him a very nice note saying he stopped by the grocery store and gave Mr. Davis a fifty for him to spend and that his baby had a full tank of gas in her. He was the devil. So it was with great despair that he clothed himself and treaded outside into the cruel world werewolf sensors on at an all time height.

"Okay keep it cool Stiles, it's still early. Just in and out. In. Out." 

He thumped his head against the steering wheel. His life was so screwed up. After a few more minuets of internal struggle he jumped out of the car and walked into the grocery store.

He hummed as he shopped. Stiles loved cooking and despite what others might think due to his spazz like tendencies he was a hell of an iron chef. He was sure his father who somehow managed to make water burn hadn't had a home cooked meal since the last time he had gone to Gainesville to visit Stiles in the winter break. He grabbed a bunch of pastas and mentally prepared himself for the different dishes he would be cooking in the upcoming month, they would have to roll him onto the plane. It wasn't until he got to the produce isle that his heart lunged out of his chest.

She had always been beautiful; hauntingly so. Even when he realized that he was gay there was no denying that Lydia Martin was one of the most beautiful creatures to walk this Earth, years later her title held true. She had her signature red lips but her hair that had always been grown out long was cut short to only a bit above her shoulders. It was pin straight at the moment and it all together made her look older, rougher. She had on a simple white top with a black jacket over it, blue jeans and a set of black heels that said I kick ass.

Perhaps it was the intake of breath and of course super natural werewolf senses that made her turn to look over at him. As dark green eyes found his he felt his adrenaline start pumping, he needed to leave. Needed to run but he could only stand frozen to the spot as though a million anchors had tied their chains around him and were now sinking him into the very ground. It wasn't until she spoke and a shocked "Stiles" left her lips that he was able to turn around and run.

He ran leaving the shopping cart right in the middle of Fresh Foods. Ran from the outraged screams of "Stiles" He ran out the two doors, heart thumping, feet flying every time they hit concrete just begging that he could "please, please let me get away. " He jumps into the car and speeds off. 

Leaving the house was a bad idea after all.


	3. Broken Dolls

The world is spinning. He feels drunk, he thinks as he let's out a bitter little giggle and allows his head to slam against the tile. He's been laying down in the cold of his bathroom floor for hours. He's sure he looks like an addict to anyone who witnesses the pathetic sight of his breakdown. He's curled up around himself, trying to disappear, trying to be just a little bit smaller; maybe then he'd be good enough. If he was smaller and softer, if he was curvy and filled with brown curls, instead of a straight buzz and all angles than just maybe. He's been making mindless doodles on the floor with the tears that fall from his eyes. He's too scared to be in his own room. 

Any member of the pack can pick the lock of the window and jump in like they always did; well only Scott and Derek ever did that. But he's sure that wouldn't stop any of the others. Then again he knows hiding behind a wooden door isn't a much better alternative, werewolf superpowers and all that. But it's a tiny space and it makes him not feel so surrounded. The pictures all over his bedroom, the books, everything is drowning him and telling him that it's the same and that this is home, but it's all a lie. He's not safe here. He's Safe in Gainesville with hot summers that he spends kayaking out on the lake, and the roar of Gator Chomps during the fall. He's not safe where there's silent howls at night telling him it was time to come out or the cheers of a Lacrosse game. He's safe with his books of calculus not this fucking bullshit on the different uses of Monkshood. He lets out a scream. It's the shattering of his humanity. It's every single thread that held him to this world collapsing around him and cutting off, nothing is holding him to this world now. Hes free falling and it's nowhere near as wonderful as all those songs make it sound. It's dark and lonely and so absolutely terrifying that he can't stop screaming. He's on his knees now heaving as he tries to take in a deep breath, but it's so tantalizing like a butterfly so barely out of reach and he can't seem to remember how to do it. He takes one more desperate gulp and it's as if he's thrown into ice-cold water that jerks his body back to remembrance. He's panting, taking the air desperately before his voice croaks out.

"I just want it to stop." He sobs.

"I'm not strong enough anymore," He places his head gently against the floor, hands turning into angry fists, "Please just please make it stop. Take him away. Take them all away. I just want to be happy again." His body collapses no longer able to hold his heavy bones, to hold the burdens of a shadowed life.

"Please I just want to be happy." He whispers.

He's not sure how long he slept for, but when he finally awakens his joints are tight from exhaustion and they crack at the smallest of movements. His eyes are glued shut with dried tears and he has to rub at them before he can even begin to open them. He raises himself to his full height his body hissing at him for the sudden and much unwanted movement. It's been years since he had a breakdown like that. The nightmares never left him; electric blue eyes ran rampant under his skin. It's like a toxin in his tissues, his own personal brand of wolfsbane that he just can't get rid of. It's there in the corner of his eyes and it the way he tells those lies.

He steps out of the bathroom and looks at the clock on his wall. Seven. His dad will be home soon; he promised he'd take on as few shifts as possible so he could enjoy their time together. He makes his way to the bottom of the stairs jumping the last three steps. It's only after he steps foot into the kitchen that his stomach begins to protest.

"Did papa neglect you? Oh I'm so sorry." He says as he rubs at his stomach. 

Depression or no depression Stiles needed desperately to eat.

He bounds around the kitchen expertly tying an apron around him, grabbing pots and utensils, and every now and then making an extravagant spin as he collects one of the items. It's simple and silly and something he had seen his mom do so many times. He imitates her now as he holds on to the handle of the microwave and twirls under it as he opens it. He hears the creak of his front door and gives a small smile, Dad's home.

"Hey Dad, I'm in the kitchen. I'm putting everything to cook now so it might be another half hour until it's all done. He swerves around, wiping his hands on the apron before looking up beaming at his dad.

The smile on his face falters.

"You're not my dad." He's staring at the boy, no man in unabashed terror.

"Get out." He whispers turning around, grabbing on to the counter for support. It's hard and strong and so annoyingly real under his hands. This isn't a dream; he can't just wish it away.

"Stiles . . . Please. Look at me."

"Get the fuck out of my home Scott." 

He screeches. He bounds towards the elder, hands shoving as they spit fire and accusations. Every single second that goes by it gets angrier and rougher, where were you, why the fuck didn't you save me it says. Scott doesn't move to grab the smaller man. He stands unmoving, brown eyes brimming with tears as he allows every fist to collide with his chest.

"Get out. Please just get out."

He's holding the sides of his head in pain shaking it rigorously as if the memories will simply tumble out of it.

"Do you remember?" Scott asks. He's not looking at Stiles, but at his own hands.

"Do you remember our childhood? All I really want from you is for a moment for you to to feel, feel our childhood. I want you to smell green grass I want you to literally feel all the cricks and bumps as we rolled down that hill, to hear the high squeals of laughter. We spun so fast. Faster and faster. We were so fucking brave back then Stiles. "His voice cracks for a moment and he takes in a shuddering breath before continuing his speech. Stiles wishes he would just shut up.

"When you're young you are fearless. I can see you now in my memory swinging so high on that swing down by the park. You would pump your legs back and forth in a set rhythm; stronger and higher you went as the seconds ticked by. I know what you thought back then 'Will I go so high that I'll flip over the metal bar, will I fly?' It didn't matter that when you launched yourself from that swing you had the chance of crashing to the bottom, broken at the impact. You're unafraid. You believe that you can fly and really with that perfect faith that you had back then the landing must have never seemed scary at all. But now we're both grown up. I'm no longer a human and you don't have spaces in between all your teeth. And if we went back now, today, to those swings we wouldn't even think about throwing ourselves off during mid swing. We'd slow down because in a way we forget how to dream as we grow up. We're not fearless. We've got all these ridiculous adult worries. You fell in love and it broke your heart and I had shoes too big for me to fit that I couldn't see past my selfishness. And it's sad and so stupid. I don't like it all." He fumbles over the last few words and Stiles braves a glance at Scott.

He's all jaw and sharp edges now. For a second he thinks that perhaps the ever-present dimples are probably gone as well. This man that belonged to the Earth, whose blood lay all over it after being taught it's mysteries and lessons, how could this man still have the smile of a child? Maybe he wasn't really his Scott at all.

"Say something." 

He smiles a tight and rancorous smile, but the dimple is there and so is sixteen-year-old Scott for a moment. Looking so proud, head tossed in abandon as he runs through the forest.

"You know something? I wish we were kids again Scott." 

Stiles mutters so quietly, he knows that the werewolf will hear him. It's all the confirmation the other needs before striding forward and wrapping the smaller in a hug. It's cautious and soft and speaks of firefly days and drunken stumbles. It's angry and rough and tells of golden eyes and sharp teeth. It's forgiveness.

Earlier on in the day

Derek runs to the front of the house. The rest of the pack is hot on his heels as he feels the panic arising from one of his pack mates. Lydia hasn't fully parked the car before she's jumping out of it and sprinting towards them. Her heart is blaring loudly in Derek's ears in a persistent and deafening drill. He looks the girl over noticing that her eyes continue to flicker into a bright green. Lydia has never had a problem controlling her shifts but right now she seemed like a brand new pup that was fighting back the shift for the first time. He grabs her around the shoulders.

"Lydia." 

His voice is steady and demanding. She wriggles in his hands, whimpering.

"Lydia!"

He repeats with more force. His eyes bleed into a brilliant red. The girl immediately calms down her head falling limp in the crook of his shoulder. He grabs her from below the knees and walks towards the house with her in his hands. She's sobbing quietly into his shoulder. It was very rare to see the strawberry blonde crying and the few moments she did she would do it privately behind the locked door of her designated room. But now she cried openly against the nape of Derek's neck. Her mascara and tears dirtying him and lavender nails piercing into his shoulders as she clung to him. He would kill whoever had made the girl cry.

As he went to put her down on the couch she shook her head vigorously. Derek gave a deep sigh before settling on to the couch and allowing the young girl to rest on top of him as she continued to sob. Derek nodded in thanks as Allison placed a glass of water on the small wooden table in front of the couch before drifting back to Scott's side. The rest of the pack loomed close by. Eventually the sobs passed and Derek was able to pry the petite woman from him.

"What happened?"

She looks dead as she gazes at Derek. Her lipstick is smeared, dried up mascara stuck to her cheeks. She's a beautiful broken doll and Jackson winces as he looks her over. He's taken back to Prom and there's blood everywhere and Lydia has just been laid down on the hospital bed. She looks so delicate like a porcelain doll, so white that's hes sure she's dead and it's all his fault for playing with something made of glass, it's his fault for lying, for not loving her enough. He couldn't save her back then and he can't save her now.

"Danny. Control your mate, I only handle one emotional break down per year" Derek grits out.

"Come on Jacks." 

Danny loops their pinkies together and drags him outside, squashing any jealousy he feels. Jackson is his mate. They were crafted specifically for each other and Lydia is his pack mate who is hurting right now. He shouldn't be acting so juvenile he growls as he tries to compress the sensation of loathing. It doesn't help when he notices that Jackson can't stop looking at Lydia.

Derek watches as the two walk into the backyard before turning to Lydia once again.

"I will repeat this only once more. What happened?"

"It was like seeing a ghost." She murmurs.

"But I recognized him. No matter how much he changed, there was something that still shouted Stiles at me." Derek's eyes turn red again as he grips the young woman tightly around the jaw.

"If what you are saying is true. . . ." He let's his sentence linger in the air.

"Then hes back." It's Scott that finishes everyone's train of thought and before Derek can so much as question what happened during their meeting Scott is running out the front door. His legs are carrying him South, carrying him towards Stiles.

Derek slowly raises himself to his feet.

"Care for her Allison." Allison nods before stepping to grip his bicep a soft smile gracing her features the slight uplift speaking volumes: it will be fine.

He climbs the stairs two at a time before collapsing through his door. He falls amongst his sheets and he growls at his fucking damn nose for being internally connected to his damn emotions. He smells chocolate and Twizzlers and stupid black orchid shampoo. Its flashes, flashes of licks and bites and strong arms steadily holding a body in a state of heaven.

"It's bullshit."


	4. When you're too in Love to Let it Go

Isaac's driving down the path to the Hale house, Boyd to his right and Erica in the back sprawled over the leather interior and he can't help but smile. He's happier then he's been in months.

Sure he loves the rest of his pack just fine but while everyone had at least remained within in the state of California for school, close enough for a drive if he really missed any of them his best friend had decided to attend the University of Minneapolis in Minnesota. It had been months since Isaac had last seen the older man and frankly the absence sucked. He kept driving the only noise being the soft sound of Coldplay playing in the background, a band that not even Lucifer's daughter in the back could form a rebuttal against. Finally they pulled up to the restored Hale residence. Isaac raised an eyebrow usually the pack would be squirming on the porch beside themselves to tackle Boyd and playfully wrestle until Derek called a stop to their antics.

As they stepped into the house they found Allison on the couch with a fast asleep Lydia held tightly against her chest. She sits staring in the direction of the movie her eyes hardened and glazed in thought, the bodies falling to the floor on the large screen going unnoticed. Jackson is sitting at their feet his head leaned back, eyes closed, and would be giving off the impression of sleep if it wasn't for the restless expression that clouded his face.

"Woah, who died?" Erica asks as she enters, nose scrunched up and twirling a blonde curl of hair idly.

Allison glares.

"Calm down hunter."

She practically spits out and turns on her heel entering the kitchen. Isaac gives Allison a small shrug like saying what can you do before following her hastily into the kitchen Boyd's low rumble of "Hello Allison" and steady footsteps tell Isaac that the other was following behind him.

Danny who's stirring something and presumably baking already occupies the kitchen. If Allison's chocolate eyed warmness being replaced with daggers wasn't warning enough this was making fire alarms and sirens screech in Isaac's mind.

He hesitates before calling out to the tanner boy.

"What's going on?"

He looks over at Boyd who has his arms crossed over his chest and is raising an eyebrow in confusion even Erica for all hells fury that she is looks distinctly perplexed at the state of their home.

Danny let's out a long haggard sigh one of someone who was used to disappointment and pain, it's so close to the one he used to make that he visibly flinches. Boyd claps a hand over his shoulder, a small squeeze, still remaining silent as he watches their pack mate.

"I don't know why I thought this could work, I always lose . . ."

Danny trails off and Isaac knows that they weren't actually meant to hear the words that spilled from the boys mouth. Danny was the picturesque embodiment of calmness, even in the middle of a match as they all crouched and circled their opponent Danny remained unmoving, eyes closed as he waited for the strike. He was lightening.

He gave a broken laugh obviously meant to sound reassuring but so terribly jagged and hoarse that Isaac couldn't help but step towards him and place his calloused hand over the larger elegant one.

"Danny." He says softly his tone questioning.

The boy looks up at him from where his eyes stared at the thick brown mixture with white chips in it and once again gives the grimace of a smile.

"Stiles is back."

He says and Isaac knows its not entirely the reason for the boys behavior but it's enough of a shock to send the kitchen spiraling into movement from the state of purgatory it had been moments before.

"What!"

Erica seethes and she makes it sound more like a statement then the question it was meant to be. She's right by Danny's other side, eyes glowing and her pretty pink mouth snarling. Boyd begins pacing around the kitchen and mutters a low "Oh shit." that would have remained unheard if it weren't for you know super wolf hearing.

"No."

Erica says again and she grabs Danny's shoulder turning him to face her viciously, his head whipping to the side at the vigor of it. She looks venomous long red nails looking as though they're covered in blood.

"Yes, Scott is with him now." She stomps her feet on the ground, perfectly toned legs looking ready to kick, ready to battle. She lets out another snarl and tears up towards the stairs.

"He's going to kill her." Isaac and Danny turn to look at Boyd whose still pacing and is looking at them with such an apprehensive expression. His tone is so matter of fact that it gives off the impression of a small child. Isaac lets out his easy-going laugh and Danny gives a smile oh and there it is the dimples Isaac so likes and things seem to be fine for an instant. But the continued worried appearance on Boyd's face, the despaired aura that had clung to Danny, and Allison's tenses stare reminds him that things were not okay.

"How many cupcakes have you made so far?" He asks turning to stare at Danny who looks a bit uncomfortable and fiddles with the hem of the turquoise v-neck.

"Sixty-two." He mutters.

"Excellent, did you make any of the red velvet ones I really quite like those."

Stiles was back and well frankly that just meant everything was going to go straight to hell, fast. But that did not mean he was not allowed a cupcake before the impending apocalypse.

***

They're lying comfortably on Stiles bed, pressed firmly side-by-side that all their limbs are touching. Stiles gives himself a selfish moment to enjoy the companionship and the soft pressure of someone that's not his dad or a nameless face touching him.

He missed many things when he left. He missed going to Reys pancake shop with Scott on the early mornings that he slept over the McCall residence or Mrs. Binks the Librarian who always gave him a smile when he came in and bless her soul never threw him out though he dropped dozens of books and made much more noise then was allowed in a library. But one of the things he missed the most were pack piles, it was sprawling all over each other during a movie having every single part of your body touching another one's, his head on Lydia's lap, his feet sprawled over Danny, Scott's head laying on his stomach. It had been a luxury that he hadn't appreciated until he starved himself of it for three years.

His mom had always whispered secrets to him in her last days. Whispers that Stiles had believed only her and the Universe knew. She told him of love of how it was the key to every lock. On how when he found it he looked it right in the face dug his nails in it and never ender under any circumstance Stiles ever let it go. She spoke to him in riddles of storms and fires that he should never walk alone, she told him about Scott and the ties that bind you to this Earth that keep you human and sane she called them friendship. Stiles remembers eagerly nodding his head, yes mommy I'll remember pinky promise!

Her words had seemed so simple then she never warned him that sometimes even if you love a person with your whole heart that sometimes it just simply wasn't enough. That even if you'd break bones for them and pour them into your blood stream you just hurt yourself more because sometimes you broke your own bones and sometimes they were toxic.

But right now in this moment he remembered what she spoke of friendship and it all seemed as uncomplicated as the sky over head. How many times had Scott's voice brought him back from a binge of alcohol, from a stare off with a razor, too many times he thought.

Scott had been one of those ties that kept him alive. Even if he had been a thousand miles away and it seemed it would break. The ribbon had turned it self into a golden string just like in the Hercules movie that had always been Scott's favorite and refused to be cut.

"Dude, I love you." He says quietly.

Scott turns and looks at him and gives him a dimpled smile his fingers lacing with his as he moves their clutched hands and put's it against his own chest, right over his heart.

"I know. I love you to man."

He knows Stiles doesn't have his werewolf lie detector, which is a completely unfair advantage in all aspects of life, but as he feels the soft thump lub-dub thump thump Stiles knows this is one of the things he will never need a lie detector test for. He sits up legs crossed and grins at Scott.

"So how's everyone, are you and Allison getting married yet?"

Scott laughs and lifts himself up to rest on is elbows.

"Not yet, we're waiting for us to be done with school, she's at Stanford with Lydia and I'm at the Beacon Hills University, if all goes well you'll be looking at a Veterinarian and the husband of a lawyer in a few years."

"You and animals. Makes sense since you are one!"

"Hey!" Scott says as he throws a pillow at Stiles. He does his best to make his tone sound as affronted as possible but the dimples on his face give away his amusement. Stiles squawks and flails his arms before throwing the pillow right back.

He's on his feet grabbing the other pillow tightly in both hands.

"You want to go toe to toe with me wolf boy?"

"It's wolf man to you human." He says sitting on the balls of his feet before lunging forward. He grabs Stiles effortlessly and throws him on the bed ignoring the pillow that the other boy keeps bashing against his head as he begins tickling the other mercilessly.

"Stop it!" Stiles shrieks, his body thrashing around the bed his face red with the lack of oxygen due to his laughter.

"Say Scott is the greatest best friend in the world!"

Stiles yells out the command but it sounds a lot more like "scoffy beshahaha fr-d da w-ooooo-ld." Scott takes his victory.

They're both sitting down looking at each other with shit eating grins as they try to steady their breath.

"I missed this man." Stiles hmms in agreement.

"And the rest of the pack, how are they?"

"Jackson's good, he's here with me studying business going to take the old man's place when he retires –" Stiles cuts him off.

"They're doing better?"

"Yeah, Jacksons parents love him, always have it's just you know Jacks. He's to hard on himself and can't figure out why people give a shit about him but it's getting better."

"I'm sure that's all Danny's doing."

"Yeah, Danny's been great for him. Well I'm sure you already knew but Danny's basically Derek's second in command now."

Stiles nods his head not the least bit surprised by this information. Danny had strangely taken to being a wolf like Stiles did to research or the Beatles did to music. Derek had been impressed when Danny had first shown his control; he had even gone as far as giving him a rare smile and clapping the other firmly for his accomplishment.

"But you know Danny he's always so humbled about everything, pretends it's not true and that he couldn't kick all our asses in a fight. He's studying biology in UCLA, loves it want's to go to graduate school for medicine and be a pediatrician in the long run." Stiles can't help but feel oddly proud of all of them.

"I know you didn't really get to know them as well as you did the rest of us but Isaac's here as well studying Psychology, he wants to go into counseling," Stiles finds that oddly fitting for the blue eyed boy he was always understanding and soft spoken form what Stiles had known of him. "Boyd went up to Minnesota and is studying engineering. And now I saved the best of all for last, your precious Queen Lydia of the Beacon Hills Elementary School Sandbox."

"We didn't even have a sandbox." Stiles mumbles and he can literally hear the capitals in Scotts sentence, what a jerk. His thirteen years crush would never be forgotten it seemed. Scott grins even bigger having obviously heard him.

"Like I told you she's in Stanford with Allison, she's studying Mathematics as you already could have guessed and she's making one hell of a name for herself up there. Allison say's she breaking hearts left and right and that she's even corrected some of the professors on their theories, basically being the bad ass Lydia we all know and love."

"I'm glad." And he means it. He says a small prayer of thanks for Scott having perfectly disregarded the state of the two remaining members of the Hale Pack.

"Good you can tell them all tomorrow." And it is said so casually that Stiles almost finds himself agreeing before a stop sign flashes in his mind and he gapes over at Scott.

"UMM, no I am not" He punctuates every word slowly making sure his best friend's teeny tiny puppy brain will understand it.

"Oh yes you are. You made Lydia cry when you ran away today if you don't go to her she's coming here and it's not going to be pretty."

Stile sputters uncontrollably and falls head first into his pillow. He. He Genim "Stiles" Stilinski made Lydia Alexandra Martin cry.

He cursed Scott to a life of stale kibble as the boy laughed his head off at his impending death.

He was so screwed.


	5. If your heart wears thin I will hold you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should all listen to Beside You by Mariana's Trench while reading or before or after because it inspired this chapter particularly this line: "When you try to speak, but you make no sound...and the words you want are out of reach, but they've never been so loud."

He's angry."

"I thought as much, but is he agreeing to it?" The man asked as he shot a look at the sleeping figure on the bed.

"Yeah Scott, he'll tolerate Stiles presence but prepare for blood shed by the end of it."

"Thanks babe, you're the best."

Allison smiles heart still fluttering years later at the genuine tone in her lover's words and whispers a quick I love you so close to the phone that she hopes Scott can feel it through the wires.

Scott hangs up the phone and leans on the rolling chair, eyes looking over at Stiles who lies sprawled on the bed, low sounds of muttered words, filling the silence every now and again. He had changed so much in the years from what Scott saw there were no plaid clothing or screen printed shirts anywhere to be found in the wardrobe of the younger, the prescription number of Adderall had steadily decreased. Surely the important things were still there. 

His love for curly fries, his unshakable love for the people who he had let into the chambers of his heart staying in the passageways of his life forming him and shaping him and making the dark shadows bloom till it was filled with evening primroses. He was still the boy who picked up strays took them home and named them after the super heroes that got him through his days, the boy who gave the best damn hugs in the world. Stiles the one who talked with his hands painting a story to life as the very air which he spoke with came alive to fuel the story with the deep color of purples and the warmth of red as it escaped into the twilight of the day, unmarred. But Scott noticed the paint strokes of change as Stiles handled himself with a more cautious air planning his every single movement, as though if he were to touch Scott the other would disappear right through his fingers.

He had never known Stiles to be cautious in fact the boy had scared him enough to cause plenty of asthma attacks when they had been younger. He was fearless in a way that Scott was sure would be the death of him and in a way it had been the death of Stiles. Because though there were parts of Stiles here lying next to him, journeying in a world of dreams as he went door to door. He knew that once chocolate brown eyes opened it was the last he would see of Stiles and the closest to Genim that he had ever witnessed.

He stands up; obviously sleep was not going to come to him any time soon. As he went downstairs he smelled the presence of the Sheriff. Before he could even contemplate heading back up the stairs, he had stepped on the fourth step, the one that squeaked and fouled so many childhood adventures till they had finally memorized it.

"Come on down Scott."

He smiles sheepishly before putting a slow hand up in greeting.

"Hey."

"Scott I've known you since you were a boy stop with the kicked puppy look, I'm not angry."

Scott let's out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and relaxes slightly enough to take a seat at the table.

"I never asked Stiles why he was leaving. It's not like I didn't notice it was strange he at first had been so adamant to the thought of any other university outside of Beacon Hills one across the country made even less sense. So I didn't bother asking when I knew that he was only going to lie."

He places the cup of coffee down on the counter and leans against the wooden edge, his arms crossed and mind miles away.

"I didn't ask because when he told me he wanted to leave, that I couldn't say anything not even to you, well, my heart broke for the second time in my life. Because as he looked at me, his expression hit me. I knew it so well how could I not? It was the one that Vivienne had in her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking, when she had given up on fighting. When she had accepted her demise. "

The Sheriff's voice waivers and Scott wants to run because he knows the Sheriff's going to blame him. It was his job to take care of Stiles. He was the older one. He should have kept his heart safe somehow, maybe those fairy tales had an idea, and he should've just locked up Stiles in a tower dammit.

"I made many promises to my wife Scott." He let's out a desperate breath before continuing. It's almost like he's trying to breathe out the fullness that the memories filled him with.

"I promised to love her every single day until her hair turned silver and mine was gone. I promised to always respect the get out sign when she decided that the world had become to heavy and she needed to write stories of worlds away. I promised to play the piano when she asked and let her fold herself into me when I've always hated hugs. I promised her as she died that I would always protect Stiles, that she needn't worry and could go in peace."

"I failed my wife Scott."

"It-."

He holds up a hand, face down, and shoulders shuddering as the tsunami hits. Scott remains silent.

"I know, I know Scott that all of you can fix him make him alive again. I know Der -."

He cuts of his own sentence this time running a hand through his hair in such a familiar gesture that Scott can't help the lunge in his heart beat.

"Just do your best."

"Of course."

The Sheriff smiles at him placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder before giving it a tap and Scott beams back because though Stiles may look like his mom, he's got his dad smile.

There's an annoying screech to the left of Scott and he swears he going to rip some-one's throat out. He let's out a groan trying to burrow into the softness of the bed. But then his conscience, which sounds remarkably like Stiles reminds him that he shouldn't break things that cost money and should instead buy him pancakes, like now. Scott let's out another deep throated groan as the draping's of sleep leave him and he realizes that it actually is Stiles.

He peeks out from under his pillow at the other boy who is sitting in the computer chair rapidly spinning. He's going to make himself sick Scott thinks and watches as the color fades from his face once he stops.

"You always do that."

He says and leans up resting on his elbow as he looks at the other.

"I know."

Scott thanks God quickly for small miracles and constants in the hurricane that has life has been swept into.

"Rey's?"

"Hell yeah!"

And in his excitement Stile trips over the pajama pants he had thrown to the floor. Scott let's out a guffaw of laughter and stretches.

"Seriously, thank God." He whispers.

"What was that?" Scott peers over the edge of the bed and down at Stiles who looks up blinking leg still tangled.

"Nothing man."

It's 40 minuets later and two clothing changes because he had put them on backwards in his sleep daze and a quick drive before they're finally seated and eating in Rey's.

" I swear, best pancakes ever nothing in G-ville was this good."

Stile says as he salivated at the sight of 3 stacks of chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries on top. Scott let's out a grunt of agreement as he chew's his own apple cinnamon ones.

"So gooooood." Stile croons patting his belly.

"So."

Stiles looks at him the same blinking bemusement from earlier on his face. It's too innocent Scott decides and immediately knows Stiles is planning something.

"When do you want to see the pack?" He continues seeing as the boy wasn't going to bite.

"Never."

"Stiles." He says exasperated his eyes flickering a molten gold.

"Fine. Can I have a drink before we go?"

Scott's eyebrows shoot up. It's not even mid day and a drunk Stiles is something that never leads to good experiences. But he see's the fidgeting that is no way related to his Adderall intake and smell's the slight panic that rolls off him and he's so going to regret this. His consent to this deserves one of Allison's famous "I can't protect you - Scott hold still, if you're constantly provoking Derek to kill you." speeches.

They could go to a liquor store its probably the smarter and simpler choice but Stile says it has to be like this. And that's how they find themselves breaking into the Sheriff's liquor cabinet, which thankfully is a lot simpler of a feat now than it was when they were fifteen.

Stile takes three swigs of the whisky bottle and puts it back in the corner behind the Jose Cuervo and grins at Scott.

"Liquid courage in a bottle the closest thing to Felix Felicis us muggles have." Stile says and turns to face the other.

"As long as you don't go all Britney Spears on me we will be fine."

He grins seeing the slight glaze settling over Stiles eyes and grabs the keys from him. Stile looks about ready to argue before he shrugs and race's out to the Jeep calling out "Last one there's a rotten egg."

"You cheated!" Scott says as he unlocks the car.

"You're a werewolf you're always cheating."  
The drive to Derek is short and is filled with Stiles rhythmic tapping and him shooting glances at Scott who watches the road. As they drive down the old dirt path he hears Stile's heart spike again.

"Relax."

Stile nods but he still sits stiff and proud in his seat.

"What if. . . "

"They don't hate you Stiles. " He says simply pulling the engine out of the ignition.

They step out of the car and Stiles is back to seventeen and he hates it so much. It's driving his jeep down that jagged road knowing that one day Lucy is going to crash and burn because lord knows she's seen better days. It's sitting against the trunk of tallest tree to the left of the house as he took notes in his red journal on ways that they could improve their fighting and random little doodles when they were running suicides because they had aggravated Derek. It's Spaghetti Sunday's at the house as him, Danny, Lydia, and Allison shooed every-one away from the kitchen and ended up with ingredients everywhere but a delicious meal and a satisfied pack at the end. The random moments when Derek would tuck him to his chest as they all piled around on the couch and stroked the side of his neck with his nose.

The push and pull up the stairs as Derek's eyes turned into the forest and Stiles happily went in losing himself in the beauty of a heart filled with life and canvases of wood, the scent of Earth so clear and intoxicating. As he pretended that this was everything he needed, that he was loved and precious. He left the metal world and entered cloud soft touches and firefly warmth and he gained strength and life under the reverence of open mouth kisses and forgot about the storm that awaited in the metal world.

He is back to the place of youth, a house in the forest of Beacon Hills, past a hill, the exact place where the sky meets the land and God's touch empties out through the canopies of trees and touches the air. Where history spills it's secrets and tells of silent screams and triumphant glories, it's where life has been trapped into and the souls watch the days of happiness and the days of moonlight until they are reunited. It's where a heart lays scattered amongst the leaves resting with the souls as it remembers brief glimpses of happiness and word's that almost were.

A house in the forest of Beacon Hills, past a hill, the exact place where Stiles lived and died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I


	6. Little soldier boy, come marching home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I need to thank my amazing and recently acquired beta hiimraen, honestly one of the sweetest people I have gotten the pleasure of becoming acquainted with. Thank you for working with our 12 hour difference and my cluelessness at this scene you're wonderful. 
> 
> Okay now down to business. This chapter has been a headache but I'm finally happy with how it came out, now if you don't feel comfortable reading any sex scenes please please please ignore the entire italicized part, and skip ahead it's not crucial to the story line so you will be fine. 
> 
> Now I hope you all enjoy it!

Stiles likes being alone. People would never guess that about him but he does. He likes getting lost in his research and crawling out his window to sit on the roof of his apartment, thinking. So he spends days (Sometimes even late nights) thinking. Sometimes its miniscule things like how someone can actually find green eggs and ham appetizing but other times, most of the time, it’s about life.

He thinks about how people are skins and bones that are made up of nothing but atoms, said to come from the stars and at first it fascinates him. But then it makes him miserable because it means that everything’s explained, there’s an answer for all his riddles. Nothing’s unique. Nothing is a mystery. And that has become the great human tragedy.

Or at least the great _Stiles_ tragedy, but, whatever.

That’s why he knew it was coming. He knew that the world would not stop turning on its axis. Stiles knew that there wouldn’t be any massive explosions that stopped everything and killed any one that was unlucky enough to be caught in the implosion from inside out. The sky wouldn’t catch on fire and the floodgates wouldn’t be lifted. Sometimes he wished it would have though.

So when it comes, when his heart threads so tight that Stiles can barely breathe as he stands from the door way watching a collision of beauty- blonde and black- he tell himself that perhaps it was never love after all.  He knows it’s a lie, knows he’s just trying to give his heart an outlet. Stiles is many things. - stupid was never and would never be one of them.  He knows what he felt, knows that that the feeling of ghosts licking at his bones and the touch of flames existed. He knows that he perhaps will never get the chance to feel this again, because he’s too slow, too uselessly _human_ and he never even stood a chance in capturing it.

Many will say that mankind is driven by a plethora of things. Some are driven by needs such as air, water, food, and shelter. Others will say that they only seek power and money. But Stiles knows the truth. Need’s leave you empty as though you just missed life’s punch line and want’s are almost lacking in humanity. Money changes hands and air is free - one to vastly changing, the other too easy to satisfy a human. And there are other’s still that say hope drives us. But Stiles knows better. He learned the hard way. He learned dignity in the set of his jaw and how his pale skin marks and you can see everything- his triumphs, his defeats - but you can’t see him cry. Stiles knows that the answer for the human drive is heartache.

It’s what allows humanity to do the unthinkable, to be able to capture the fleeting moment of a sunset right before they blink. The reason that the words fill up a page; it’s what fills you up so tight that you’re heaving and your stomach and throat have switched positions spontaneously and god it hurts. It consumes you and wrecks you but damn at least you had it - at least it brushed up against you, wrapped you in cloth and made you brave. He felt it.  So at least he knows, he knows that it’s not just a line in a book, an utterance in the sunrise - it exists.

It’s what Stiles has been doing for the past years of his live – existing - and he attempts to do it as peacefully as possible. He still listens to CD 5 on long car rides because there’s something about classic rock music that makes everything a little bit all right but if he _never_ ever allows track 12 to play that's because it’s scratched. He still shoots his hand in every direction when speaking but he _never_ touches any one. That recklessness is gone and he has learned a new way of being alive. It’s a way that doesn’t require him to ever go to the spider web lines of his mind nor to find the key that he swallowed diligently after locking that part of himself in a chamber. No, his new way of life came from pure heartache, from the creativity that riled him up at night and made him read and write everything down, pure nonsense, pure genius but everything was taken out from where it gnawed at him. It came from the burning ache that sent him plunging into a lake on his first day in Gainesville.

Because regardless of all the love that Stiles has inside him he has no-one to give it to anymore.

"Dude.”

He turns his head and sees Scott’s face distorted in a collision of anger and sorrow. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Sorry.” He reigns in his emotions and notices the other’s expression relax, the knife sliding its way out and leaving him a mess of soft limbs.

“It’s fine.” His voice is gruff but he gives a tiny smirk to assure the other of no wrongdoings.  

He hears the ordered sound of footsteps and looks towards the house; there on the beige wraparound porch stand men and women, elegant and fatal in their grace. He sometimes wishes they still looked the same, had the same movements of childhood’s exuberance because he feels at a disadvantage here, it’s six to one. There’s a hand clamping around his elbow, the fingers so light on his skin like when you’re a child and you try to see just how close you can get your hand to the stove and you feel the heat radiating. The odds change and it’s six to two and it doesn't seem that bad anymore.

Danny’s the first one to step forward and Stiles isn’t surprised, he expected as much. Danny was the understanding calls, the one who told him _it’s okay Stiles I know how hard it is just be safe, give us a call soon, yeah_. He’s stepping down from the porch and though the hesitant smile on his face stays he doesn’t, as he walks the short expanse to where Stiles stands.

“Stiles.”

His voice is pouting almost pleading and within thirty second Stiles is stepping forward and burrowing himself inside of Danny if only to stop the throbbing of his heart strings. Danny wraps his arms so tightly around him that he’s basically hugging himself and he is so glad that Danny has the strength to hold him up right now because he’s sure that his feet are going to give up from under him. He takes a small step back enough that he can finally make out which limbs belong to whom. Danny smiles that radiant smile, not quite as overpowering as the one he reserves for Jackson but it’s still an awesome smile. It’s that smile that can comfort even a stranger because it’s coming straight Danny Mahealani: the one that every body loves.

The rest rush in through the waterfall of Danny’s actions and they’re all so presently there that Stiles brain is trying to grip what just happened and went off the edge of the waterfall that he can’t deal with what’s going on now.  

His breath comes in tight clips and he shoves away the arms encircling him, Allison’s. He doubles over and holds a hand to his chest. _Not fucking now Stiles_ he internally screams. There’s a firm hand, palms rubbing at his back n steady circles.  He counts down the happy things like his Dad taught him after his first panic attack at the age of eleven. One, the sun is out today. Two, he saw Danny’s smile again. Three, he can still feel the taste of chocolate from the pancakes earlier this morning in his mouth. It takes seven minuets before he’s upright again and smiling sheepishly at Scott who had of course been the one comforting him.  He takes a step closer to him and presses their sides together; Scott who had never been this perceptive keep’s on surprising Stiles by never questioning his actions.

His eyes do a full intake of the pack from where he’s standing and he squirms, fidgeting is his escape - always has been. It’s the easiest way to distract a person after all.

Allison seems to be having none of that.

She has the look in her eye that made Stiles realize why Scott was so in love with her and made the whining a little less insufferable. Allison’s perfect and sometimes, just sometimes, Stiles wishes he could fall in love with people like her and be done with the likes of Lydia’s and Derek’s in this realm. She is all ethereal long limbs and endearing almond eyes. It’s a battle of what she appears to be versus what she really is - a beautiful girl spinning in a forest. That’s the big picture - not the scars or the loyalties she had left behind. If he were to be more critical he would describe Allison as a star, or the crescent of a wave, ready to burst, but she never does - just admires the long graceful arc of her arrows and keeps going.

She’s in front of him again, three steps and then she’s brushing a hand over his cheek and leans forward giving the apple of it a kiss.  Stiles blinks twice, hard and stares at her as she leans back, mouth closed an impish smile settling.

He smiles back and it’s as if he’s reached a hand out from the cage that’s locked him and opened the switch, like that’s all it takes. And maybe it does because Jackson’s standing tall a smile (one that Stile swore he would never live to see) on his face that speaks almost of endearment. Boyd and Issac are pleasantly amused as they watch him and the warmth at the corners of their smiles feel as real as it looks. It’s not that hard anymore.

They settle themselves inside and Stiles notices the immediate changes. They had still been in the process of remodeling when he left; now the house looks warm and welcoming, shards of every-one’s personality meshing perfectly to make it a home. There’s a large leather sofa to the right: it’s already worn in and it has a blanket sprawled across it and an assortment of matching pillows, Right in front of it, where they finally decided to put the fire place, a plasma T.V. is hanging above it. To the side of the sofa lies a large Papasan chair and he knows that piece of furniture was completely Jackson’s doing.

Stiles looks and around and breathes in the scent and the home - for all the portraits that hang around, beautiful cherry wood floors, and marble kitchen that it has acquired, the aroma of the house is unchanged. It still smells like flames and the rest of the pack: Allison’s practical and sweet lavender, Danny’s never changing Armani after-shave, Lydia’s dripping and asphyxiating rain water, Jackson’s honeysuckle entwined with the humidity of summer, Scott’s thick musky vanilla-like sweet sandalwood, Derek’s pure and clean earth, and the other members of the packs smells. It reminds him of better days.

 

 _Hot kisses are placed all along his back, hard nips and teasing bites that fall just short of where Stiles desire was growing, where he needed to be touched and penetrated. Stiles whimpers and he doesn’t give a fuck if it’s unbecoming because he needs to be fucked and Derek is being a douche bag. As if feeling Stiles anticipation, one finger roughly slides in without warning and he moans in unabashed heat._ _“I like the sounds you’re making.” Derek rasps, popping in another finger “Don’t stop.”_ _Derek begins to pump in and out, making sure to angle deeply inside the warmth of Stiles. Stiles let’s out another stuttered breath as he clenches Derek’s fingers, biting at the skin of his palms. Control seemed impossible. Derek’s fingers had the precision of a pianist, steady and strong as he stroked the slick walls. Stiles was getting impatient as he squeezed around Derek’s fingers - the muscles of his body contracting even tighter in exasperation._ _“More,” Stiles groaned, propping himself on his elbows and thrusting his hips back towards the body behind him. “I need more, damnit.”_

_Derek is silent but Stiles can feel the smirk as though it’s against his skin, searing him wherever it touches him._

_"You’re impatient.” Derek murmurs before pulling out his fingers, Stiles is craning his head back to look at him now. His gaze meets bright red and it makes him dizzy and he watches as Derek drops his head letting his tongue slide over the throbbing hole, lapping slowly and unhurried. He kneads Stiles ass and spreads it apart, almost dying to get more access into him. Stiles can’t see the other man’s mouth but he swears to God he can feel it smile against him._

_In seconds Derek is pounding into him with animalistic ferocity, the sounds of their bodies slapping together filling the room. Stiles writhes back like a wanton slut, arching his spine, the dip of his back sharp as he shoves his ass down on Derek’s cock. His moans almost immediately spiral into screams as Derek angles in him, his hips cocked just right as he hits the spot that sends the body beneath him trembling into a frenzied mess._

_“Oh no, you don’t.” Derek growls as Stiles tries to muffle the sounds that unwittingly leave his mouth with the back of his arm. Derek takes hold of the arm and pins it high above Stiles head, the grip so strong that Stiles just knows it’ll bruise the second Derek let’s go of it. He pulls out and slams right back in. “I want to hear you scream.”_

_He increases his speed, Stiles only screams louder, the sound bouncing off the bedroom walls and filtering through to the forest. Stiles doesn’t disappoint him, he repeat’s Derek’s name over and over again in a broken mantra, a litany of prayers filled with Derek’s name and pleas only for him always for him, the body above him drives even harder to reward him._

_“Oh fuck, DEREK! Oh my GOD!” Stiles whimpers, as Derek increases his speed even more. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d say that Derek is some kind of beast. Which, turns out to be, the truth. Above him, Derek wears the smuggest look and though Stiles can’t see it he feels it and can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at that, but being pounded to heaven by someone like Derek makes annoyance a very petty thing._

_Stiles can’t tell for sure, but he daresay’s that he hears Derek chuckle above him. “It’s funny.”_

_Derek voice is nothing but husk and he can’t help but growl through gritted teeth, throwing back his own head as he feel’s the muscles of Stiles flutter and flex around him. He Stiffens behind him and let’s out a moan surprising Stiles who suddenly quickens his movements, more desperate then ever to get an orgasm that would destroy them both. He reaches back to run a hand across Derek’s strong shoulder blades, and bites down at the junction harder than he should but Derek will be fine and he’s a little bitter so fucking what. He grins, his own personal victory as he feels Derek’s grow inside him because Derek in his own way worships Stiles body._

_He sucks another line up the slope of Derek’s neck as he cleans it clean of salt and dirt, it’s slower this time almost loving and no one ever said Stiles was strong. Derek fucks into him without any need for permission because the half-moon crests on his hipbones and the arm wrapped around his chest are answer enough; he’s Derek’s._

_"Tell me. What’s funny?"_

_"Hmph." It’s Stiles two and Derek zero now because he knows that his voice turns him on even if Derek’s spends half the day telling him to shut up.  The slow thrust is telling enough._

_“The first time I took you, your heart told me that you were scared but you pretended that it was just another day, that you didn’t care, that you weren’t starving for it. You would refuse everything I wanted, like you wanted me to hurt you. You dared me to put you in your place wherever it was, against a wall, in the middle of a clearing, the back of one of the cop’s car. You were a wild thing, so angry and fucking brave.”_

_He bites down on Stiles shoulder then and burrows his head in it, digging his nose into the damp strands at the others neck that are curled in perspiration. Stiles almost laughs but it’s humorless it’s nothing but bitter lust and he wonders when he started giving in to Derek. He arches back. Derek’s hands automatically go up his back begging another gorgeous roll out of him._

_“Now?”_

_Derek is quiet; fucking him slow as the only sound in the room is the slick and wet one of him steadily working in and out of Stiles. Stiles is sure he won’t speak again so he closes his eyes shut and tries desperately to memorize the sound of Derek’s veneration, the soft pop, the shuddering breath as Derek carves out a space just for him inside of Stiles, as he leaves his mark inside him just as vividly as it’s outside. It won’t take being a werewolf to know that Stiles is damaged good, that’s he used and Stiles imagines it’s because Derek wants to keep him forever and he imagines that it’s all for him, and only ever him. It is his greatest pretend._

_He feels the break of rhythm and he clasps around Derek’s dick just to hear the usually calm Alpha lose his composure, to hear that barely there hitch in his breath._

_“Now. Now you bend over so pretty for me, asking me, begging me. You want to submit to me. You know when to squeeze, when to arch, you’re like a perfect fucking doll just for me. You love it when I’m in you, when your throat is swollen and you just take it like a fucking whore because you want me, you want it. You love how I fuck you, don’t you?”_

_Derek’s breath is coming out in tight hot rushes and he can see Stiles visibly shake under him. He drops his head down low again and his tongue curls around the shell of Stiles ear._

_“Don’t you?”_

_“Yes.” Stiles doesn’t think he has any sense of dignity left but it feels delicious and it’s the closest to perfection he’s getting so he impales himself on Derek’s dick as the other pauses and every single time he drops Derek just grabs his ass appreciatively and licks his way down Stiles spine. He’s quivering and anything that’s coming out of his mouth is nothing but a stream of meaningless sound._

_"Yes, yes, yes" It’s a confession, a testament to just how fucked up he is. Yes I’m sick of trying to be tough. Yes I would bleed for you, lay it down and die for you.  Yes I love you. But as Derek thrusts back and crushes their bodies together snapping in tight and brutal Stiles realized that it’s all a game. One of wolf and sheep, and it’s filthy and a mess and Stiles is standing with blood spilling from his veins and he can’t keep it from dripping onto the perfect sheets of Derek’s bed. Perhaps he can hide in the smooth plains of Derek or in the pockets of his leather jacket?_

_“And what do you want?” He watches Stiles curve up like an arrow, ready, and just so fucking hard._

_“Come in me. Let me come, please please please.”_

_Stiles heart is beating to the rhythm of Derek’s thrusts and the intense bursts of pleasure zigzagging across his body collect themselves at his the tips of his fingers. And when he finally crashes and screams it sounds a lot like I love you._

He shakes his head roughly and looks back at Allison.

 

“Pardon?”

She smiles again sweetly, as she stands waiting in the archway and holds out a hand for him. He takes it and her fingers glide over the inside of his wrist where his blood pools.  He think’s she’s trying to hear his heart beat.  He walks into the living room because honestly it’s the safest option right now. Scott’s sitting down on the couch and Allison quickly joins him as she settles down on the armrest. Jackson runs over to the Papasan chair just like Stiles knew he would. He makes a grabby gesture toward Danny. Danny side steps it and it almost doesn’t look like ignoring but Stiles is used to being brushed off and he can see the tell signs even as Danny lands a kiss on Jackson’s brow.  Instead he wriggles his way next to Isaac and rests his long legs on the edge of the coffee table. Boyd sit’s on the other armrest giving the last available seat to Lydia who rests her head against his lap in thanks. After so many years it’s almost weird seeing how they’re all sitting next to each –other touching, as if any part of them was not consumed by the other’s they would surely died.

They throw out safe topics like school and books and he answers politely. It’s no-where how it used to be - it probably wouldn’t ever be because Stiles hates talking about himself now. He has become so painfully ordinary so people would never ask. There was nothing that set him apart, nothing to remember him by and he likes it that way.

Of course when faced with puppy brains, Danny and Lydia didn’t count because they had already been inhumanly smart that if the bite did knock out some I.Q. points it wasn’t that large of a deal, someone is going to ask something not so safe and it’s going to end even _more_ awkward, ‘cause, well Stiles is definitely awkwardness embodied.

“Nah, I don’t have boyfriend. I don’t really date; it’s just not for me. The whole kissing the same person everyday is kind of boring.  And especially, when you start dating, the other person starts calling you back and that just blows, ‘cause I just wanna get my degree and relationships hold you back, you know?” Stiles said before hastily adding, “Not that being in love is bad. Or anything” looking at the mated couples.

“It’s totally cool to like some-one and talk about how they smell all day,” He says and he’s so fortunate that Isaac’s so blasé because he laughs when Stiles murmured a quiet ‘right?’ leaning over to throw a kiss at Boyd and make a fluttering movement with his eyelashes and it diffuses the situation almost instantly - because big serious Boyd blushing like a school girl is absolutely more attention grabbing then Stiles daily foot in mouth speech.”

The conversation continues and he ends up telling them all about his job because this topic’s safe, he doesn’t necessarily associate himself with his job but more with drunken college kids, today’s best hit’s, and the butterfly shaped glasses of Mrs. Abbie.

“I work as a bartender. Not the best of jobs, I know, but the pay’s good and my boss, well , _man_ she’s like the greatest woman in the world. She’s got these awesome eyes that are like sunshine - does that even make sense? “ Stiles furrows his eyebrows for a moment and then shrugs. “Whatever but she’s like the real world version of Molly Weasley. She’s all ‘Here have a cookie but if you don’t listen to me I’m totally giving you the one’s I soaked in rat’s poison’ kind of woman, ya know?”

“You leave for three years and your only friend is a middle aged woman. Nice.” 

Stiles spine wrenches upward and he’s sitting stock-still as his eyes lock with Erica. Not even Grandpa Argent’s sword could cut through him like this Stiles idly thinks.

Danny’s the first one to stand up and he looks over at Stiles and Stiles is sure Danny’s going to go all medieval and defend his honor or something like that but it seems pretty pointless when Stiles is leaving the room. And why is he leaving the room? Well because it seems that Lydia Martin deems it so and what Lydia wants, she gets - it’s a proven fact that she can even make Stiles give up his last Reece’s pieces.

They’re climbing up the freestanding staircase that swallows the entrance of the house in its majesties. There are small wolf figurines engraved into the banister and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the woodwork. It seems too long because he’s being wrenched forward and he almost trips trying to catch up to Lydia.

He’s thrown into a room and the door shuts behind him. Lydia stands against it - a vision of curves and pink. She looks at Stiles for a moment and he drinks in her appearance. She wears a beautiful mint green dress, a small brown belt cinched around her waist, it makes her glow and he can see the light lazily walking across her, spilling gold and she looks so alive, just like a sunflower bathing in the golden light.

She looks at him and raises her eyebrows - all teasing and pretty pink lips.

“As long as I’m still the prettiest girl in your world, I just might forgive you.” Her voice rises coyly and if he didn’t know her better, he’d say she’s flirting.

“Always.”

She smiles. For a moment it catches sunlight from where it swims over from the large bay window and the room breaks off into a vision of a thousand diamonds.

She steps closer to the bed and pushes him down and he knows the drill. He scurries back against the headboard and relaxes as much as he can. He forgot this, the closeness of pack. She lies down close and curls up to the side of Stiles, she nudges one leg with her own and tangles them and bumps the top of her head against his chin before he lifts in and she settles happily on his chest. For a long time she breathes in and out and any one else would think she’s fallen asleep but Stiles knows that she won’t sleep till he does. He squirms again and toes off his shoes before taking a deep breath and holding it in his mouth, the freshest air in the world.

Lydia finally closes her eyes. He’s safe now.

 

 


	7. We Were Fated to Pretend

When Stiles wakes up he blinks in the dark of the room. At some point while he slept Lydia must have unfolded herself from his side and pulled the blinds over the window and switched their positions. He feels her fingers passing back and forth across his buzz cut.

_“But I don’t get how it’s so soft Stiles!” Lydia once argued. “Your head looks like it can draw holes on the wall. If you try hard enough,” Lydia stated with a shrug of her shoulder._

_Stiles - because it’s his head they're talking about and not some hammer or other person's head, preferably a werewolf - simply threw her a nasty face and said “It’s awesome, so just deal with it.”_

“Morning Sleeping Ugly.” He can just feel the smirk.

“This is what I get for stroking your damn ego.” There’s a soft chuckle from above him as she continues her venture.

“I missed you.” She states it so meekly, as if he won’t be able to wrap his head around the concept, won’t believe it.

He cringes and closes his eyes because three-year old Stiles loves her and would never do anything to hurt her.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He knows she’s peering down at him now because he can feel her breath somersaulting down onto his face. It’s a simple question and Stiles should be able to answer it. Should be able to confirm that of course he missed her - that he had lost himself down on a crooked path and couldn’t find his way back to them, to home.

It’s a dirty lie.

He left them because he wanted to. He knows he could have called to tell them he was fine. Or at least to tell them that he was alive. Could have had them fly in during a summer weekend. Hell he could have even shot them an e-mail. He knows that if he admits to this question, he’s telling her that he willingly caused her this pain that broke through her ribs, he admits to the patterns of tears that cascaded her face and clung to her eyelashes, acknowledging that he act out of pure selfishness.

“I thought as much.” She murmurs.

And for once he’s glad that she is now the Quiet Lydia, the one she rarely shows. The one who the world would never suspect lay right under her flesh, pushing its way through in the smallest of gestures. How she sent Jackson towards Danny even when her heart was breaking apart at the seams, her delicate fingers taking the bottle of Jack Daniels from Allison’s hand and wrapping themselves around the elder as she crumbled. The one who played chess for countless hours under the trees with Boyd.

He clears his throat and can almost here the static in the air.

“So did you ever end up telling him?”

Stiles asks trying to steer them from the wary ground where there’s just some tombs that he isn’t ready to stir. Lydia, for the love of God, simply turned her head slowly towards Stiles, one of her eyebrow arching up in the same pace.

“Him,” Lydia said, her voice dragging that single word, making it clear it was a question.

“Him,” Stiles repeats, his head bobbing along while his hands are dancing all over the space between Lydia and the bed.

Lydia shake her strawberry blonde head slowly, her forehead creases with lines, questioning. Stiles fails to say anything, instead flails around harder and made desperate inhuman sounds (because he’s Stiles), Lydia lets out an irritated breath.

“’Him’ who, Stiles? If you haven’t notice there’s already 5 ‘him’s in this pack, we were talking about one of the ‘him’s just now, and I’m pretty sure you’re trying to change the subject here, but hello, non sequitur alert?” Lydia finishes, her face a little flush with the exertion.

Stiles harrumphed as quietly as he could, cursing himself for that nice non sequitur. _Good job Stiles. Make Lydia confuse about which guy you’re talking about: Check._

“I’m talking about blue eyed boy what was his name Mic - I don’t remember. Have you told him, about the whole werewolf ordeal?” The moment the words left Stiles’ mouth, Lydia’s face flashed into desperation for one second. Instead he see’s her relax her face. First her eyes then she moves to slacken every other facial muscle, releasing all the tensions until she simply looks indifferent and bored with the matter at hand.

“No.”

Stiles gives an indignant scoff and he sits up, crossing his legs, bright brown eyes questioning. The _why not_ hangs thick in the air. She raises her eyebrows and looks down at immaculate nude nails.

“I’m not bringing him into this life,” Stiles waits for her to continue, “He wants to be a doctor. This place destroyed him, I met him in a counselors office the first time for God’s sake.” She runs a hand through her hair, a habit of frustration that Stiles quickly recognizes. He can tell the new hair style is recent, as she seems almost perplexed when she comes to her ends. “He wanted to break away from Beacon Hills and all its memories. He did and it’s fine now that we’re both in college but what am I going to do when I come back after my studies? I won’t – no, I _can’t_ shackle him to his past.”

Her gaze is far off, somewhere past Beacon Hills, caught in Palo Alto - the bright skies and firefly nights, her own personal heaven.

_“Stiles I found him!”_

_Stiles jumps up, hand clutching to his heart and begins grumbling how he’s going to buy all of them freaking bells and collars. He closes the book he found in Derek’s library on pack dynamics, bookmarking page 286, “Mates: The Werewolves Puzzle” and swivels around in his seat to look at Lydia._

_His annoyance melts immediately at the expression on her face. She’s grinning widely, a perfect string of stars and her strawberry blonde curls are falling haphazardly around her as her chest pumps up and down with nothing but obvious euphoria. For a second he wants to be a werewolf just so he could hear the melody of her heart, the singing of her blood._

_“Who did you find?”_

_His face settles into amusement. He see’s a ring of bright gold that of her wolf surround the edge of hunter green eyes and her smile if possible widens more. Stiles sometimes wonders how they ended up like this, his long and passionate crush becoming giggled breaths and long talks on his rooftops. Ribbons of color and promises on whispered lips painting their skies. He’s glad for it and would never take it back to be honest._

_After all Genim Stilinski was always meant to love Lydia Martin - it was fate, just not in the way that younger him has assumed._

_She opens her mouth and rattles on, her hands clasped before her. He actively tunes into her and she’s talking about the world’s brightest eyes that have been plucked from the sky. She talks about mate and how it will be for, like, forever. It’s the boy from the counselor’s office and how she has no idea how she didn’t notice until they literally bumped into each other. Stiles’ not wanting to dim the smile on her face and lightness in her voice swallows the comment on how she just asked Derek for the bite this weekend. He smells like fire she says, burning embers - the perfect contrast to her own petrichor scent._

_It’s funny, he muses. How they grew up in the same sleepy town, walking down the same streets, none the wiser that the moon had crafted them out for only each other. It cuts through his own emotions; hate, love, sorrow, anger, all of them clashing and clanging against each other as they try to climb out of his heart and spill out. There would have been a time that he would have wished for this type of happiness but it’s dead and gone now. Regardless of his own bitterness he’s happy for his beautiful girl. He’s happy that she’s found her mate and that she will have her happy ending, God knows he has a penchant for her. She’s still smiling at the end of it all, the picturesque image of what crafted the stories of angel’s centuries ago._

“But that’s not fair.” He explains.

He knows she’s the only one she ever told about her mate - if not Scott wouldn’t have acted so naturally when he spoke of Lydia breaking the hearts of young college men. Scott especially knew the importance of a mate and would have been the first to preach on how she couldn’t hurt her mate like that, how that unfaithfulness would make her mate hate her. He remembers how she rejected the top universities in the U.S.A, hell the world - after all she got accepted into Cambridge and Oxford - instead choosing to settle down in Stanford. She chirped how it was still a great university and close enough to the pack. Stiles knew that it was really because a certain blue-eyed boy had also gotten accepted there as well.

Kinda figures, really.

He pokes her but she’s still not meeting his eyes. He sees her hands clench the periwinkle blue duvet in her palms. And then she speaks, whispered like the whistle of wind chimes at night.

“Hypocrite.”

It’s laced with anger, so venomous that he can feel the poison depleting into his skin, seeping. He swallows and his voice comes out a lot shakier, a lot more like Star War’s obsessed Stiles then he wishes.

“I’m not his mate.”

She stands up, her nose getting that pinched look as though someone has just placed a pile of manure at her feet.

“You don’t . . .” Before he can continue giving his refutation she’s grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Don’t think! Don’t think for one fucking second that I don’t know why you ran. How it feels to see something and be like I wonder if he’ll like that remembering every stupid little remark, every color in his eyes, every fucking scar. Don’t think I don’t know what it’s like to try every single day to fill the gaping in your soul, with music, with laughter, just anything that will make it stop hurting so much.

“Because I know so well what it’s like, Stiles, _I know so fucking well_. When his very presence calls you home, whispering in the midst of the agony your songs. I live with the fact that I will never have him each and every goddamn day, first with Jackson and now with him.”

Her eyes are golden now and she’s growling. She let’s go of him shoving him back to the bed where he falls.

“Don’t tell _me_ that I don’t understand.”

She turns away from him and faces the cherry wood vanity. Though her back is turned he can see her through the mirror. She’s crossing her arms and it’s so obviously not in anger but in an attempt to keep her self in tact.

“I’m sorry.”

He watches her stiffen.

“You were supposed to get your happily ever after.”

He watches the lone tear slide down her face.

“Well just because we live in a world where fairy tales roam doesn’t always mean I’m the princess.”

Lydia excuses herself to the bathroom and a few minuets later Allison walks in holding an intricate silver plate - the ones used in fancy English tea parties that Stiles could probably never sit through. She smiles and the hint of dimples show.

“Cupcake?” She offers.

“Are they Danny’s?”

She nods and sets them on the nightstand before sitting on the corner of the bed looking at him.

“Did I really have him that worried?”

Allison laughs easily.

“You had all of us a bit freaked out, actually. It’s been a while after all.” He reaches for the only Peanut butter chocolate cupcake on the plate – oh, his precious Amazon princess knows him so well.

“Think I should have sent a postcard?”

He moans around a bite, Danny was a God at baking. He really is a terrible person because he’s thinking of all the ways he can put Danny on edge more often just so to have more of the soft chewy cupcake.

“Definitely.” She says smirking as they sit in silent finishing up the baked good.

“So how’s everything?” He asks.

“Great, being pregnant isn’t as bad as they make it out to be.”

Stiles is choking on the last bit of cupcakes, his arms pumping his chest because he seriously got something stuck in his wind pipe. He jumps out of the bed and starts holding his throat, falling on his knees and looks up at Allison whose peeking at him through her hair completely reaxed. He’s making an academy award impression of a fish at the moment.

“YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” He says it so loud that he’s sure the whole pack can hear it and he really, like really hopes it wasn’t some sort of secret.

“Nope.” Allison answers and takes another bite of the cupcake.

“Wha - then why would you even say that?!” Stiles sputters out and is glaring from where he lies on the floor.

Allison’s evil, how could she not be - anyone who eats Cupcakes from the bottom up must be evil, even if it’s a smart way to do it ‘cause the icing is always the best part, but that’s not the point here! The point is that she’s a sadist.

“I needed something to ease out the tension in this room?”

He’s patting the floor in a random beat and quirks up an eyebrow.

“I was down at the hall.” She elaborates.

Lydia walks out of the bathroom then and pouts at Allison.

“I would hope that when the days comes, you tell me first. Also, for future reference, I shall accept the title of God Mother. For any newborns. Yours too, Stiles.”

Stiles winces a little at that, because really, he has nothing to say to that and he’s sure if he mentions that he’s a dude and can’t get pregnant Lydia in all her mad scientist splendor will formulate a remedy. Allison just smiles and holds out a hand for Stiles who takes it gratefully. He’s heaved onto the bed again and Allison rests her head on his thighs. Lydia proceeds to gracefully place hers on his other side; wrapping her arms around his left bicep and curling up. _‘How is this my life?_ ’ he wonders.

“I missed this.”

Allison hums in acknowledgment and goes back to tracing her hand through the air almost fascinated by the particles of dust that gather.

“We missed it too. Cuddling with each other without you, Stiles, is just not the same. Lydia complains too much,” Allison stage whispers.

“Well, _you’re_ too skinny.”

“And you’re too soft!”

“Are you. Calling me. _Fat_?!”

“Absolutely not. Do I look like an idiot?”

Stiles can’t help the rumble of laughter that builds up in his throat and pretty soon he’s laughing out loud. Lydia looks at him as though he’s insane and it’s so familiar that it just makes him laughs even louder. Pretty soon, Allison’s chuckling and Lydia’s full out giggling and they lay there in a fit of merriment that encases them in happiness for a few minutes.

Allison stands up after having detached her limbs from them. She looks around and takes a deep breath swallowing the feeling of bliss. Her hands settle on her hips and she motions toward the door with her head.

“Dinner?”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheeks. The pack is crazy traditional about dinner unless something has changed in the past few years, which probably hasn’t. They’re creatures of habits. This means that dinner is held in the dinning room with actual silver ware and not plastic plates and the food is displayed as though it was Thanksgiving. Everyone passes the food around and Derek who’s insanely protective and nosy about his pack’s lives shoots questions around the table.

So basically dinner means being confined in a very tiny room with Derek. The guy he’s ridiculously and foolishly in love with. On the other hand, he misses Danny’s cooking and Stiles is pretty sure that food conquers his fear of Derek any day.

He nods, not trusting his voice to not crack in anticipation. As they walk down the stairs he laughs silently. Lydia and Allison aren’t subtle at all or maybe they think they are but the way they’re flanking him, creating a protective wall, is way too obvious.

Danny grins at him when he steps through the foyer and into the kitchen. The kitchen is big. It has a lovely island made of marble that matches the counters and compliments the lovely dark wooden drawers. There’s a pot sizzling on the stove and Danny goes back to cutting the vegetables singing the words to the song.

“So get out, get out of my head –“ He hums the rest as he puts the knife down and walks over, reaching up to get a bowl from the cabinet behind Stiles.

“Nice nap?” He quips.

Danny’s commenting on a running gag from back in the day. It seemed that the only thing that Twilight had right about werewolves was that they really were human furnaces, ridiculously hot, and yeah, Stiles meant that in every variation of the word. It seemed that Stile’s human temperature was a nice cooling feel to the heated one, meaning that he and Allison had often found themselves in the middle of pack piles.

“Of course.” He rolls his eyes and Danny grins.

A part of his heart buzzes because Danny’s amazing and he kind of had a huge crush on him sometime after Lydia and before Derek. He notices that the girls have left, trusting him to be safe from any sour wolves in Danny’s company.

“So UF, that’s impressive.”

Stile blushes prettily having never been used to compliments and shrugs his shoulder, a content smile on his face.

“Well, I’m pretty badass.”

“I know. We all know that.”

Stile tenses. Yeah, if Danny was trying to be shrewd he completely wasn’t. He heard the Derek in that ‘we’ as though it had been screamed.

“So, I’m guessing cupcakes for dessert?”

He glances over to a corner where there are trays filled with cupcakes, expertly piped in Danny’s homemade cream cheese, Oreo cookie, or coconut mochi icing.

“Yes, stay away from them. I don’t want you to ruin your appetite.” He says stirring the pasta.

Stiles wonders when Danny took his place as pack mom. It makes sense though, especially since he’s now the second in command. Danny is always fair and just, so kind to all the members of the pack and everyone respects him - even Erica, who had a difficult time in accepting the others once Scott had accepted Derek as the Alpha. He remembers her one time curving up in front of Danny as he brushed her hair, the ringlets of daylight pooling around him as her eyes closed in content. Danny had even elicited something as innocent as giggle from the beautiful blonde.

Yeah, Danny was and will always be good for the pack.

“Too late,” Stiles said, flashing Danny his toothy grin.

Danny frowns, and frowns some more, until he saw the smudges on Stiles’ front teeth.

“Damn it, Allison.”

Stiles laughs because of course it would be her, and of course _Danny_ would know. Allison in all her glory as the local ‘Amazon Queen’ had honed her skills into the art of becoming a sweet thief. Stiles remembers one of her more desperate plans that involved Stiles in Spandex and rope.

Hey, no one ever said they were good plans - just that they got the result. The _best_ result, even.

Danny checks the time, gives a brief nod and settles himself over the island, one hand in his cheek.

“Are you nervous?”

Stiles glares at him. Okay, when did Danny become such a dick? He blames Jackson. There’s no way he’s going to answer that in a building that is housing eight werewolves.

‘They’re not here. The rest of the pack is in the woods and Allison and Lydia went to go get them for dinner,” Danny sounds apologetic, almost as if he’s reading Stiles mind.

Stiles flicks his eyes back to Danny – he had no idea when he averted his gaze. Stiles feels all sorts of douche bagginess because Danny’s giving him that kicked puppy look that’s just as good as Scott’s. He can’t resist kicked puppies - which is probably why he ended up liking Jackson so much in the long run.

“I am,” he answers.

What’s the point in lying when Danny would know. And the truth is, he can’t be bothered into finding a way to phrase his words into half-truths that wouldn’t give him away.

“Thing were bad when you left. I don’t know if Scott told you but things were so bad.”

Scott didn’t say, not a single word. He focused more on now and he speculates idly why his best friend wouldn’t have told him.

“That’s just because he lost his favorite toy. Derek doesn’t like when his authority is undermined.”

Danny’s eyes widen and his mouth forms a small o shape, gaping – the perfect picture to describe the word ‘realization’.

“You believe that. Fuck, you actually _believe_ that. Stiles, you’re . . .” He trails off still staring.

Stiles twitches and twirls his fingers. Danny is looking at him like he’s seen him for the first time with such a stunned expression that it unsettles him. He doesn’t need Danny trying to be righteous. He knows perfectly well that he wasn’t pack - not really, anyway. He was a release for Derek and was only barely tolerated because Scott - for all his fuck ups as a best friend - would never leave Stiles behind, except when it came to Allison but that didn’t count since he would have probably abandoned Scott for Lydia.

He feels a soft hand save for a few callouses from exercise lift his chin. Danny’s dark, endless eyes are staring at him, searching; his stare is like pinwheels, dizzying Stiles at just the sight. Stiles can’t look away.

Whatever Danny was looking for, he must’ve found it, because then he say’s, “You were never a toy. You were so much more Stiles.”

“Yeah Danny, I know.”

Danny’s frown grows, causing wrinkles to work their way up to his forehead. He just nods and doesn’t comment on the fact that Stiles just so blatantly lied to him.

The conversation is terminated because even Stiles human ears can catch the sound of laughter coming from the front door.

He looks at Danny in panic and his heart beat spikes, regardless of how hard he’s trying to get it to settle. Danny pushes him hard enough for Stiles to loose his equilibrium and catches him at last minute. His heart is beating a mile per minute now at the panic that arises when you’re suddenly tipping over. The pack comes in, Scott at the head of it looking a bit worried, obviously hearing the erratic sound and stares at the image that is Stiles - leaning backwards like it’s an everyday thing to do - and Danny - holding Stiles, one hand on his hip while the other is gripping Stiles’ forearm.

“Stiles fell and I caught him.”

Which is technically the truth. Stiles gives out a frenzied giggle from panic and when he looks up from Danny’s arms and his eyes meet’s hazel eyes, he is so glad that Danny gave him a buyable excuse for the jump in his pulse.

“Gravity is still my arch enemy it seems.” He says as he holds onto Danny arm and steadies himself.

He’s looking straight at Scott, ignoring the stare from Derek. Because he doesn’t want to faint or vomit - both would equally be bad and even worse if he vomits and then faints and falls in his vomit. And Stiles has no idea why he’s thinking up all of these horrible scenarios that are just making him breathe harder and for sweet Jesus, he’s only sticking to one panic attack per day thank you very fucking much.

Allison giggles and steps forward looking at Danny her eyes illuminated in amusement.

“Do you need help setting the table?”

Danny smiles and nods, the atmosphere defuses just a little.

“Yes, I want to use the Ivory china,” Allison nods and simply tugs Scott along with her. “Jackson get the light green table cloth for me and Erica you can be in charge of setting the drinks and cups. I’ll bring in the food.”

The other two are quick to begin moving and Danny goes to finish the pasta, adding the chicken and sauce.

Stiles just stands there, in the middle of the room, absolutely not ignoring Derek and biting the inside of his cheeks. God bless him that his new nervous habit wasn’t noticeable.

“You look well.”

It’s gruff and makes his insides melt as though he’s a schoolyard girl that just read the first installment of 50 Shades of Gray – still, Derek’s way hotter but that’s not where he’s trying to get at. Derek’s voice was the only one that Stiles almost forgot because unfortunately, Stiles is a little bit of a masochist and recorded all the voicemails the pack left on his phone. Derek’s, though, was ambiguous, like trying to catch smoke in your hands. It was only in his dreams - or maybe they were nightmares, Stiles wasn’t sure - that Derek’s voice was ever heard.

He turns around and looks at Derek. He should never be allowed to still be so perfect. He’s wearing a tight dark gray button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, accentuating the ripples of muscle on his forearm. The buttons are undone, showing a black wife beater and he’s wearing a familiar pair of jeans. Stiles doesn’t drool . . . much.

He nods and smiles but if Derek’s look of disdain is of any indication it came off as more of a grimace. Stiles doesn’t really care because this is going way better than what he had in mind. He’s going to give himself a nice pat on the back and some caramel ice cream after all of this because he still hasn’t gone into a panic attack or busted out in tears.

Stiles, 1; the Universe, 0

He’s giving an imaginary fist pump when Erica comes up behind Derek and nuzzles her nose into the crook of his neck as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Derek gives an annoyed grunt but does nothing else to deter her. She smiles and it’s all sort of saccharine sweet and pleased before sauntering right back out.

He catches Derek’s face as he turns around and as his nose twitches - he knows Derek smelt it too: the scent of tears welling up and clinging to eyelashes - strong, even in the midst of all the aromas in the room


	8. The sky above, the field below.

Stiles used to dream a lot when he was younger. Vivid beautiful dreams that he’d babble to his mother as she puts him on her hip and danced across the kitchen with him in the morning light. She’d laugh at him fondly and press kisses to his hair, which she always kept long.  When he got too big to carry she would intertwine their fingers, kissing every one of them in love, hope, and pure blossoming joy, and they’d twirl around until noon to different artists - Barry White, Janis Joplin, but he remembered that the beginning and end was always Abba. The cheery music set them in giggles as they finally started making pancakes because _everyone_ knew the best time to have breakfast was when it wasn’t breakfast time.

Then his mom would teach him about all the important things in life - like how to whistle like a bird, not get lost in the forest, and how to swim in the lake. How the saddest words in the English language were ‘might have been' and to always love with everything he had - because love and being good were the only reasons for which we lived. After his lessons - always different ones, except that of love and goodness - she’d let him clasp his smaller hand around hers and guide them home. They’d make sandwiches without the crust, a late lunch snack, and drive over to the station. The sound of Abba’s Greatest Hit’s vibrating around the Jeep and she’d always look at him from the rear-view mirror and say “ _Stiles, you’re dad is so silly, he’s probably skipped lunch again_.”

Stiles’ mom was a fascination. Stiles didn’t understand before why she died, but he thinks he knows now. She was the type of person that everyone fell in love with – even if only just for a few seconds. People just loved watching her exists - unattached and free.And so she watched on with heightened emotion - and maybe that’s why she died so young, because for someone who experienced life the way she had, a few years were eternities.

Therefore, when she had died Stiles kept dreaming and loving - no matter how much it would hurt sometimes - and he thinks that maybe his mother knew; knew that at one point in his life he would be tested, be pushed by others to be something more than human, to be better, to just be _more_.

But his mother had taught him the beauty that _ordinary_ human life held. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to make a difference - so he rejected the bite. The social stigmas of groups that surrounded others in the hierarchy of High School weren’t the only way for people to connect - so he never gave up on Lydia. Hence, he thinks more than ever, that she knew about all the secrets of the forests and she taught them to him so that when the time came, Stiles could do well and the hit of the reality would subside in gentleness.

And as he watches the lights of the stars blink, he thanks her now. 

The pack is running around in the forest. He can hear their yells of triumph ring and shudder through him from where he sits on the wraparound porch. It grasps him so lightly that for a moment he understands that there is no place for anything except happiness and mystery in the woods, only the desire to have more of that freedom.

He feels more than hears someone plop down next to him and he looks at the sharp features of one Isaac Lahey. The boy looks at him and the knowing gaze sets a fire alight in Stiles heart. They look at each other and the boy opens his mouth then bites his lip and he can almost make out him testing the words in his mind, tasting them on his tongue. He finally speaks.

“It’s okay to be angry at her.”

Stiles goes wide-eyed at the man speaking the opposite of the thoughts that Stiles had drilled into himself. Because Stiles had told himself day in and day out exactly that - it was _not_ okay. He had no right to hate Erica for loving Derek - it was almost impossible not to love Derek when you learned of the actual man that he was.  It was not her fault for wanting Derek’s thrilling smiles that hinted at fifteen-year-old him all to herself. It was not her fault that she noticed the kindness that Derek displayed back in times of peace. Nor was it her fault that - just like a cliché - she wanted to help Derek become everything that he was destined to be, everything that he probably is now. Stiles had promised himself that he would not hate Erica Reyes for these stupid reasons that had been pulled out of a really bad teenage movie that went straight to DVD.

But hearing someone say that it was fine…well, he can’t help admit that he does kind of hate her - just a little bit. And that he wishes she wasn’t so blonde and naturally beautiful or actually goddamn funny and all around great.

When she wasn’t threatening you, that is.

He must have looked as distressed as he felt because Isaac was suddenly there, _hugging_ him and Stiles wasn’t even aware he had been crying till the blue-eyed boy wiped a hand across his cheek.

Stiles gives out a stream of nervous laughter.

“I’m always crying nowadays, I’m such a chick.” He wipes at his eyes angrily and Isaac smiles.

“It’s fine, I used to cry all the time.” He says it like it’s a secret.

And Stiles feels his hearts strings forcibly tug at that admission. There’s a strong sense of comradeship between them - something like a great friendship that could have been, if only Stiles had stuck around.

Stiles lifts his head up, meeting Isaac’s eyes, a small smile playing at his lips. “Hey, want to go eat all the rest of the cupcakes?”

Isaac grins.

“The red velvet ones are all mine.”

Stiles grins as they dash inside. He’s totally dead - either Derek’s probably going to rip his appendages because of how annoying he is on a sugar rush (he’s pretty sure Jackson will join in for _that_ endeavor) or Allison will electrocute him until his brain fries for taking her sweets. He just hopes that Danny can reign in on time to protect him - because Scott’s of no use against Allison.

As he scarfs down both a chocolate and strawberry cupcake at the same time - speaking with an open mouth of ‘ _So good, I’m stealing Danny from Jackson_ ’ and looks over at Isaac whose cheeks are puffed out as he tries to chew - he doesn’t regret anything at all.

****

Lydia pounces playfully, jumping from a rock to land on Derek’s shoulders. He grips her around the waist, smirking, and sends her hurling towards Scott. Scott catches her easily, lifting her high and spinning her in a circle. Derek watches contently as his pack plays, the moonlight shining down upon them, protecting her own as they sailed through the Earth. He watches Allison - who’s sitting high on Boyd’s shoulders - as she lets out a peel of laughter as he jumps from branch to branch.

“Watch out!” He hears Jackson yell as he and Erica come crashing down in front of him.

They had locked their hands together, spinning until they were both dizzy and drunk on the thoughtlessness. Erica’s laughing hard, head thrown back in recklessness as she sits up on her haunches and pulls Jackson forward. Derek smirks - Jackson and Erica had the hardest times incorporating themselves into pack activities. Jackson flinched whenever someone went to touch him and Erica couldn’t be bothered to be around anyone who wasn’t Isaac, Boyd, or himself. It was incredible to see how far they came as a pack. He watches Danny, whose wrestling with Scott, getting dirt on their clothes and face. His smile falters when he remembers how Danny’s been avoiding Jackson for the past few days. He will handle that later, he muses.

He leans up against a tree, propping his leg up, breathes deeply and closes his eyes.

It’s the calmest he’s felt in years, his entire pack is together – _Stiles_ , had completed the hole that had remained in the links between his pack.

He feels a bump against his shoulders and he opens his eyes, looking up at Boyd. He looks at Boyd questioningly - usually Boyd couldn’t get away from Allison when they went to the forest, the elder was almost always found sitting on one of his shoulder, gleefully clapping as he raced around with her. He smiles wide and a bit breathless and jerks his head. Allison and Lydia are walking around, their arms linked as they talk in quiet voices.

“Derek?”

“Yes?”

“When are you going to tell him?”

He only stares.  He knows that Boyd won’t elaborate - the stocky man having never been known for his words. But for the life of him he can’t recall what Boyd is hinting at.  The other crosses his arms over his chest

“That day, in the forest. I heard you say it, even if I was the only one that heard it. Jackson had been injured and Danny was worrying about him and Scott had been trying to calm Allison down. I know you said it Derek, and he has a right to know. You need to tell him.”

Derek’s eyes flash red, not liking the command in his Beta’s voice. Boyd takes a cautious step back, his neck tilted slightly, submitting.

“You might be the Alpha Derek, but you fucked up. You need to tell him.” He turns around and walks toward Jackson, clapping him on the shoulder.

A shudder runs through Derek and he can’t help but go back to that day. The dawn had come that day, and with it, a storm.

 

 

 _“Get out_ now _!”_

_Not one member from any of the Packs who had heard him questioned him - Derek had never been gladder for that.  For a second they buzzed at the center of the home, the neighboring Alphas looking to him for direction since it was his territory, and the children’s terrified faces looked back at him, but still they were lining up and following Derek as he led them towards the basement.  It was the first thing he had recreated when he had been swayed by the combined efforts of his pack to rebuild the house again, the tunnels that his father had designed only for emergencies - the one that Kate had caved in before proceeding to burn the house down._

_For a second he contemplated on just how sturdy they were, but he knew that anything was safer than these very grounds. He watched from the corner of his eyes as Boyd grabbed a little girl, no more than five, from where she had stumbled and began to cry. He gripped her around the waist and carried her, meeting Derek’s eye with an affirmative nod towards him. Derek muttered to Scott an order to keep the children safe and nodded towards the other Alphas. He made his way to the back of the line, flashing his smile at those who needed it and repeatedly telling Stiles to shut up because_ of course _they weren’t going to die._

_And even if deep down in his heart he knew that this might be the end, Derek still refused to believe it._

_They scurried down the staircase of the wall faster - Scott probably having picked up the pace when he was sure that the human members of the packs had adjusted to the darkness._

_The tunnel divided from a narrow path to a wide one and Derek began shouting orders again._

_“As they come in, move the young and elderly between the stronger ones, keep them as close to the middle as possible.”_

_Silence, besides the scurry of movements and small whimpers, were the only noises that met his ears.  Boyd walked past him, still holding that same little girl in his arms, and now leading another one by the hand that clung to what was obviously her twin brother, the Hispanic features told him that they were pups from Alpha Valentina’s pack.  Allison gave him a nervous smile, her bow held tightly to her chest - he knew her nervousness didn’t betray what she would do. She would kill humans tonight, her own family if need be. Derek could never repay her loyalty._

_He counted heads and Alpha Valentina joined him at his side. He nodded to her and for a mere second Derek had a wild whim that maybe, just maybe, they would make it out of the tunnels and to the clearing safely._

_He should have never hoped._

_The walls gave a pulsing moan from behind him as he helped an aged member of one of the packs._

_“VAL!” He heard the screech of her mate and watched as the other Alpha threw herself into the crumbling walls in an attempt to save a pup that wasn’t even her own._

_Derek had no choice as the walls continued to shake and let his wolf take over. He let the wolf’s strength propel him forward, as he grabbed the shirt of the man and violently tugged him along with him, a cry of shock leaving the other._

_He refused to think of the others that were still screaming, whose arms were reaching in desperation, of the sacrifice that an Alpha had made. The walls were breaking themselves apart and he couldn’t care now for all the lives lost.  He finally looked back when he made it down to the clearing. The screaming had stopped - only silence remaining and the scent of blood thick in the air._

_“Derek.” It was whispered nowhere near him, but he knew that it was Stiles who called for him._

_He steadied his voice, relaxed it until it was the voice of a warrior before speaking._

_“Alive.”_

_He saw Valentina’s mate come forward, a plain man with blonde hair and brown eyes - nothing extraordinary, but a mate nonetheless. Derek did not want to think of the pain the man must’ve felt. A woman - Valentina’s sister, who now held the Alpha red eyes - flanked him. She grabbed the man in Derek’s arm._

_“Father.”  She cradled him in her arms and tiptoed to give the silver of the man’s hair a kiss._

_“M-,” Her voice cracked for a second before she removed the pain from it. “My pack and I will continue to follow you.” She paused for a moment, before looking straight at Derek’s eyes. “Thank you.”_

_She had been taught well, Derek thought. Alphas had to - in moments of war - be able to disregard the lives that could no longer be saved and focus on helping the one’s whose hearts still beat. They had to continue._

_He nodded his head and licked at his lips - tasting dust._

_“Derek!” He turned._

_Stiles was stumbling from the middle of the room towards him. His voice was dipped in desperation but his eyes held strength. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s middle and Derek could feel the tang of tears, more specifically Stiles’._

_Derek could not let himself enjoy the feel of Stiles, not now. He nodded again at the boy and patted him on the shoulder, as though it was an everyday occurrence for them to be on the brink of death, and broke his grip._

_“We need to keep moving.”_

_Stiles studied him for a moment and then he nodded himself, a gleam of understanding filling his stare - he knew that Derek must stand._

_“Scott, keep them moving man!”_

_Derek, despite of not having been born to be Alpha, had never wanted it either. He had become the Alpha because being one was what the circumstances of his life had asked of him._

_He had become a true Alpha, a leader because he wished to protect what was his._

_First it had been his three misfits. Then Scott - and by extension - Melissa, Allison, and Stiles.  Then it had been Lydia - who had showed up screaming ‘Get him out, please Derek, please’ clawing at his arms. Then he had discovered that perhaps Jackson Whittemore had a few redeemable qualities and Danny already knew and would surely be a valuable asset to his pack. Now, it had extended to all the faces looking at him._

_He may die tonight. He could feel the wolf pulsing through him and radiating from his fingers, gathering at his heart. But he would die defending what was his. He walked with Stiles next to him and entered the trees where people lay haphazardly around, the stronger tending to the weak._

_He watched as Lydia walked towards them, a tight smile on her lips._

_“What do you need?”_

_He gestured vaguely towards the clearing._

_“Tend to any who needs help.”_

_“Of course,” she murmured and floated away, walking towards a crying twelve year old who the others seemed to have failed to calm._

_The boy began sobbing, telling Lydia how one of his pack mates had died in the crumbling of the tunnel. He noted that the boy was from the Anderson pack, one who had commented that he wished his own mate would one day be as beautiful as the strawberry blond. Lydia knelt, placing him in the middle of her legs. It was strange how such gestures seemed to come so naturally to her._

_Some of the other pups soon surrounded her, crying, praying for reassurance that it would be fine, and asking why the humans hated werewolves so much. Lydia answered as she always did: calmly. She stated that it didn’t matter if they were human or werewolf - some people just weren’t good. She dried tears and kissed the wild blonde curls of the boy in her arms, evenly running her hands and parting out the blood that clung to it._

_“It will be fine.” She whispered. “It will all be fine.”_

_Derek thought for a moment, that despite how intelligent the younger female was, she was wrong this time._

_He looked around and met the eyes of the five other Alphas and left Stiles with the others. They merged to the middle of the group._

_“Numbers?”_

_Julia, the new Alpha for Valentina’s pack, raised her hand up to her chest, making herself look younger among all the other Alphas. The small, questioning voice in which she spoke did nothing to hide the fact that she was just_ too young _either. “Dead or alive?”_

_“Dead,” Derek answered, his voice calm and collected._

_“Two.” William stated._

_“One.” Julia answered after a moment._

_“None.” Anderson said, nodding, and Derek could_ see _the relief that hung around him._

_“F-four.” Olivia stated, the red in her eyes flickering._

_“None.”  Derek finished. He knew Andersons relief he had never been so happy for a pack filled with no pups._

_“We need to plan out who we want to take and who we should leave behind to protect our humans, pups, and elders.” There was a vague sound of confirmation and Derek tried to clear his mind from the drumming of his heart, adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream._

_He called his pack over to him._

_“I am taking Danny, Boyd, Allison, Scott, and Jackson.”_

_“I’m coming too.” Lydia growled, her teeth bared._

_“No. You’re immunity did not let the bite take as it should. Though you have many of the same features as any of us, you still have less strength then a normal wolf, as well as slower healing.”_

_“I’m sure they’re going to ambush you all as well once we leave, even if there are humans and children who remain at this point, the Hunters won’t care. They will send their stealth to infiltrate you all and we need the most agile and cunning to remain and protect.”_

_“What about Allison?” Erica added and then gave Allison a look of apology before glaring back at Derek._

_“Allison is a wild card. She is also Scott’s mate and he’s stronger with her in close proximity.”_

_“B-but,” his eyes bled red._

_“It has been decided.” His voice comes out tight._

_He turns around and heads towards the rest of the Alphas and their chosen soldiers who stand at the edge of the trees. He takes confidence from the sounds of his pack following behind him._

_For them, he would be brave._

_****_

_Derek had never felt such intense physical pain. His arm burned_ _like a vial of acid had touched his skins; making his eyes water and he prayed that the bullet was not made of wolfsbane. He felt bile rising; it stuck horribly in the middle of his own throat and tasted terrible as he forced himself to swallow it down. The stench of death was making his head pulse. He dodged an elbow and climbed onto a tree, hiding in the shadows for a moment to take in the damage._

_Anderson was sprawled against a tree, his mouth covered in blood, Gerard’s sword in his heart. At the foot of his legs lay two bodies. One, who Derek recognized on site as Gerard himself.The other - his features marked with pure fear - was a young hunter that Derek had never seen. They were both dead. He was glad for that._

_An arrow grazed by his shoulder and Derek saw Victoria Argent, hair blazing and eyes livid, staring straight at him._

_Derek once again found his wolf taking over and acting before he can think. He used the branch to launch himself towards the distance between him and Victoria. He landed on the balls of his feet and lunged again, but another hunter stepped in front of Victoria, hovering protectively. She electrocuted him and he pretended it had actually landed a severe blow and flung himself back, whimpering on the dead leaves of the forest. He heard the hunter snickering as she lowered herself to him, her boots crunching in the dirt._

_He ripped her throat out_

_He saw Scott burst through the corner of his eyes clawing someone’s face, the eyeball falling severed to the ground. And then he saw two other hunters suddenly darting away, toward Scott, knowing that it would be a much easier target than an Alpha and just as satisfying of a kill._

_They both suddenly came to a stop and crumbled to the floor._

_He heard the frustrated shriek of Victoria from somewhere toward his right. He saw Scott blinking, touching the air in front of him as though an invisible force field had surrounded him. He looked up and Derek followed his stare, Allison hung upside down from the branch of a tree, her cross bow in her arms, her gaze furious. She jumped down, running straight through the bodies, shooting arrows and breaking through defenses. She didn’t hesitate as she jumped over a dead body and straight at her mother, screaming a strangled cry. Derek could only make out what seemed like Jackson’s name and he froze._

_Victoria smacked past a red-headed wolf, pulling her gun out and firing two shots. The first one went sideways and only grazed Allison’s side. It still caused the girl to tumble down, smashing her face against a rock and knocking her out due to the added momentum from her sprint._

_The second zoomed right towards Derek - he threw himself on the floor and rolled to the side. He closed his eyes for a second, willing away the adrenaline so he could focus and be able to locate the sound of Allison’s heart beat. It was light, but still beating._

_He looked over his shoulder when he heard a very familiar sound – the sound of someone having the breath knocked out of him. At that moment he realized that the shot was never meant for him._

_Stiles lay against the trunk of a tree, his eyes wide open and staring, holding his stomach._

_His_ bleeding _stomach._

 _Derek tried to speak, to move, to do_ anything - _but he couldn’t. Stiles death was not something that he had ever contemplated or thought possible - he took all the measures to make sure that_ he _would remain safe. Stiles wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t even supposed to be here, but there he was, the blood oozing from his stomach telling Derek a different kind of story - the lapsed and slowing beats of Stiles’ heart mocking him._

_Derek felt the atmosphere boil, and he snapped his head towards it, his wolf becoming fixated on the raw energy. There, Anderson’s mate was standing small and delicate but it was no mistake, the charging current that was coming from her. The wind picking her long black hair and making it dance._

_“Oh Vicky, I’m going to kill you,” she sing-songed.  Derek was shaken at the absolute wildness that clung to her. She had given herself to her wolf, removing all semblance of humanity, in the hopes that it would kill Argent._

_She ran towards her but the still-sane Victoria had the upper hand and thrusted her blade through her chest. She grabbed onto the arm of Victoria and ripped the flesh, a laugh of jackals toppling from her lips. Crazed and doomed as she died - but she never stopped laughing._

_Her dead body fell to the ground, the blade slipping out of her body as if it was cutting through water, fluid and helpless, just like the dead body._

_He was so caught up with his thought that he hadn’t realized what was happening before a hand clamped over Derek’s lips, and a voice like poison murmured into his ear._

_“If you don’t scream Derek, I will be so upset. You don’t want to upset me do you Derek?”_

_Derek shut his eyes. He knew he was close to crying but he couldn’t care anymore, he only knew that he wanted to sleep, or surrender to the blackness that surrounded him – but most importantly, he wanted Stiles safe, it was his only wish._

_And then he was pulled back from it, opened his mouth and_ screamed _, ripping the air apart as she plunged her blade deep into his stomach and twisted it._

_“Tsch, tsch… Much better, Derek dear, but don’t worry, I won’t kill you, we have to finish this lovely show first, now don’t we?”_

_Victoria Argent had one of the Hunters bring Stiles over and she had dropped him on his knees right in front of Derek._

_He looked at Stiles, whose eyes were drooped, mouth attempting a small smile. The action seemed to hurt more than it should and the boy dry-heaved - a useless action because Derek could smell the vomit that lay in the corner of his mouth. Victoria held another knife - small and light - to Stiles neck, pressing, and he watched as the crimson droplets began running down the curve of Stiles neck. There was nothing he could do - if he moves, Stiles head would be severed, he knew it._

_She placed her other hand to Derek’s cheek, stroking.  It felt like cobweb - slick and cold._

_“What would you have me do, Derek?”_

_She whispered, her hand drifting as she grinned._

_Stiles let out a brutal cough._

_Blood burst forth, trickling lazily down his mouth in an ugly design of red. So much blood, Derek thought. He sagged in front of him and Derek could hear the organs begin to fail him, one at a time._

_But he was still smiling for Derek’s sake._

_"Don’t die Der...ek. The pack needs you. I - I love so many things, Derek. My life, my dad, walking barefoot. I love-.” It was stopped by a cough; he licked blood from his lips and continued on._

_“I love you. God I love you even if… ’S not important. ” He babbled and it was such a Stiles thing to do that he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that - even in the mist of all of this - it pulled from him. Stiles smiled again, a real Stiles smile, and then he closed his eyes._

_Stiles was human - always a human. Smart, impatient, jittery, tackles, and capable of such kindness and loyalty that it astonished others who met him._

_Derek couldn’t stop weeping,_

_“I love you.” He whispered back and how he wished that he hadn’t waited so long._

_Derek had been so sure he had time, he even imagined the perfect moment to do it, a moment of peace and tranquility after the war. He’d say it during the spring - because Stiles loves spring more than any other season - it would have been perfect._

_Victoria rose as Stiles dropped unmercifully to the ground. Her eyes clouded in satisfaction as she was handed Gerard’s swords, raising it tall and great over her head._

_He and his wolf howled in anguish._

_Stiles’ heartbeat was stuttering out._

_Victoria’s eyes gleamed like glass, her expression unchanged but her stance staggering.  He saw an arrow protruding from her chest as she bent over. Another arrow struck its mark, at the back of the woman’s head. Victoria Argent fell dead._

_He heard the screams of the hunters, retreating. Derek stared and wondered if it had all really ended so easily. He looked at Allison who stood a few feet away, her arms held limply at her sides, as the bow slipped through her shaking hands. Tears were streaming down her face._

_Danny ran to his side._

_“Come on, we need to get the injured back to the camp. The Bernanbeu family specializes in healing.”_

_He scrambled to his feet, pure adrenaline and some false hope making him move, but he’s still shaky, even as he grabs Stiles gently, cradling him closer to his chest and running._

_They’re back in the clearing and he’s placing Stiles at the feet of Cecilia Bernabeu, the mate of William. She tugs Stiles out of his hands, glaring at him when his grip doesn’t let up. She finally places him down on the floor muttering something as her palms begin to glow a soft blue light._

_He turns around from the scene and gives himself to the madness rioting inside him. Hope was something that he wouldn’t cling to, it was so very small, and Derek was not sure he would be able to hold on to it even if he chooses to believe in it._

_He feared what would happen if Stiles died, if he could ever recover from it._

_He feared a world without Stiles. He feared it more than anything._

_He walked past the yells of Lydia and exploded into the form of his wolf._

_At some point in his run he had arrived back at his home. He closed his pulsating red eyes, and balled up in the center of the charred house, where sometimes if the wind was just right, he could still smell chocolate crepes and soft vanilla. He wept openly and the ghosts of his family’s wolves answered back his every cry._

 

 

 He met Danny’s worried expression, but he lifted a hand, a reassuring gesture, to ease the head Beta. Lydia ran up to him, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him over. He gave his memory one last lingering thought before settling it away.

He had never said anything five years ago; he didn’t see the point of saying it now.

_  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter especially Derek's memory is the entire inspiration for this work. I dreamt of a war but I took it in a more severe sense than the one Derek probably meant in the season. In mine it's more than just the Argent's against the Hale pack and I just really loved writing this chapter. It's quite possibly my favorite. So here's basically the answer to many of your questions, though not all. Hope you enjoyed it :D


	9. In a phrase to cut these lips, I loved you.

Isaac had sent him to meet the rest of the pack at the porch once he heard their footsteps approaching. He grinned at them and hoped that the other boy had been able to dispose of the deed.

“Hey guys,” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and definitely staggers a bit, ‘cause yeah, he clearly doesn’t have the devil may care aloofness for such a move. “So did you finish howling at the moon? Awesome, that’s so cool just – like, don’t enter the kitchen, it’s now a no-wolf zone. Like, permanently. Like, if you get claws at any point in time you’re not allowed in and that means you too Allison, ‘cause you keep your nails long and that’s kind of the same thing as claws.”

Danny’s the first to realize something’s wrong and Stiles really doesn’t know what gave it away. He’s not twitching...much.

“My cupcakes!” Danny shouts and pushes past Stiles.

“ISAAC, HIDE THE EVIDENCE!” He shrieks and then runs up behind Danny and jumps on the other boy’s back. He covers Danny’s eyes with his hands and clings on for dear life. Danny tries bucking him off, which fails miserably; because Stiles is a pro at latching onto things - it comes with the art of annoying people into submission. It’s not until Danny slams his back against one of the walls of the kitchen that he’s able to dislodge Stiles.

Stiles let’s out a loud humph as he falls towards the floor, rubbing the back of his head and glaring - which immediately turns to him throwing an arm in front of him and the other over his eyes, peeking through his fingers at the expression he’s met with.

Danny glares - trademark werewolf frowny-brows - his fangs come out.

“I swear if you ate _all_ the cupcakes, I’m ripping both you _and_ Isaac’s throats out. With my _teeth_.”

“Wow, you guys seriously need new material.”

Allison’s face pops up next to Danny. Her hair is all tied up in a tight bun, making her face appear sharper and her eyes looks slightly crazed.

“How about we find out how long it takes for the human body to drain all of its blood after being punctured with arrows?”  Stiles nervously gulps and babbles.

“Allison, Amazon princess – no, no, Queen, definitely a Queen, Queen of all the forest creatures, Ali dear, the apple of my eye, fruit of my loins, the, the – you wouldn’t kill me!”

“It is debatable.”

He hears a groan from somewhere in front of him and he wonders when Danny had left his crouched position.

“ _All_ of them, Stiles! All of them, _gone_.”

“What’s gone?” Isaac says, gliding into the kitchen from the living room, his impossibly blues eyes blinking slowly, his eyelashes brushing against the tip of his cheek bones and _wow_ , he’s _good_ , Stiles thinks, _he’s really_ , really _good_. It’s like Bambi on steroids.

For a moment he really thinks Isaac’s going to get away with it and that they’re both saved. It is not until Danny strides up, the frown on his face deepening and pokes at the pocket of Isaac’s dark blue jeans - where _tadaa!_ one cupcake wrapper is inconveniently sticking out.  He hears the outraged scream that rips through Allison.

Believe him when he said that it brought shame to the war cry of a _Banshee_.

There is no God and he’s going to _die_.

He sees Allison make her way towards him as Danny scolds Isaac - his hands clutching to the front of Isaac’s shirt as Isaac throws his head back - and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to know how long it will take to drain out all of his blood - so in desperation he croaks out a plea to Scott.

Which yeah, he admits, a really bad idea, but he’s running out of options here.

So when a very broad and very firm shoulder magically appears in front of Stiles, he did the one thing that he believes anybody, werewolf hunter or human, would do when faced with a very pissed off Allison – he cowers behind it. Well, he doesn’t actually cowers _cowers_ , it’s more like strategically placing himself behind said broad and firm shoulder. For protection purposes only.

It’s only when he hears a deep and very Alpha-like voice calling, “Allison,” and the sight of Allison stopping mid-march to Stiles, that he realizes that the very broad and very firm shoulders belong to Derek.

 _On second thought_ , he thinks, _I’d rather die than be saved by Derek Hale, thank you very much._

“Der-ek.” She breaks his name in a whine.

“No.” Derek says, his voice low and menacing.

“But,”

“I said, no!” Allison clearly takes it to the heart, if the sight of her wearing her infamous Pouty-Allison face is any indication. “Isaac you’re going to drive everyone for dessert. Stiles, you’ll clean the mess you’ve made in the kitchen.”

He see’s Isaac nod where he’s still standing, eyes downcast as Danny directs glares that speak of disappointment. At least he's not wolfed out anymore.

The sound of movement is all he hears and then he realizes he was left alone with Derek Hale.

Alone with Derek.

In the kitchen.

_Alone._

_With Derek Hale._

He shakes his head to clear it a little bit before racing to the other side of the counter to clean up. If he’s quick enough he can get back home with the smallest possible amount of awkwardness. He’s bent over picking up wrappers from where they laid on the floor, and when he stands up to throw them away, his own traitorous hands conveniently drop them back to the floor at the sight of Derek’s chest.

Fuck him.

He looks up and his heart stutters at the explosion of a flower blooming in the pit of his stomach. Derek has that careful smile on his face; not the bright one he would give after a particular good full moon, but the one that always made Stiles believe that maybe, just maybe, Derek did loves him back. It always laid there in the corner, tucked away with the light of night, a latter between the realms of magic and the secrets of the camp fire.

His eyes snap back to the floor as he bends back down to pick up the fallen wrappers. Derek’s hand covers his own.  It’s a sight to behold, the difference between them: Derek’s hand are rough from the land - big, the type of hands that a man would have; while Stiles are thin and long - an artist’s hands.

“Let me help you.” It’s whispered and fleeting like the dew that shined in morning.

“ _No_.” Stiles speaks without thinking and just like that, the dam breaks and he can’t stop talking.

“No. You don’t have the right.” Stiles says standing up and throwing himself back, trying to dislodge himself from the situation.  He’s shaking his head and he feels his body vibrate as though all of his organs have just picked up speed, his flight-response clearly kicking in.

“You don’t get to smile at me and make me fall in love all over again, oh my God, _oh my fucking God_.  This isn’t a fucking movie, I’m not fucking Bella Swan, fucking desperate to take you back.  You _hurt_ me. You hurt _me_. I don’t think you fucking _understand_ , Derek, that sometimes the only way I could even get in a few hours of sleep at night was to recreate your body around me, the weight of your head on my shoulder, to have your _scent_ surround me. I had to heal myself, this stupid little broken thing that you made me - and God, Derek, I really hope she was worth it, I really hope that you felt so fucking good inside of her.”

Stiles glares and damns this moment, this moment of limbo. Where the future is right before them but they can’t seem to cling onto it - but you could never go back to pretending that this didn’t happened. The moment of goose bumps and fingers clinging to keep something that would slip away because time always manages to run out.  

Derek presses forward aligning their bodies, synchronizing their breaths, orchestrating the rhythms of their blood flow - one steady and one frantic.  Stiles growls meekly, lunging forward and buries his nails into the veins on Derek wrists, where the blood collects warm and thriving and for an instant, he desires nothing more than to _kill_ Derek.

He can’t hold it in - this toxic - as it spills from his body; he wants to get it out. It chokes him, this love and he’s a walking book of emotions - a fool.  He loved in the most foolish of ways; he divulged his love into strings of light and ribbon for all the world to see, as he transcended the reality of his situation through his imagination. Many of his actions had been done on impulse and with the sheer last minute catch-your-breath- hope-that-they-will-come-out-right; that it would be worth it all in the end.

He lashes out and gives a swift kick to the others groin. Derek crumbles a tight gasp, the only sound he makes as he leans over. It pulls Stiles apart as much as it gives him strength. He yanks Derek’s hair back so he has to look at him and it vibrates through him this power, this satisfaction of seeing the other on his knees.

“Tell me when it hurts, lover.” And he bites down on Derek’s lip until the metallic taste of blood swarms into his mouth; he pulls back grinning and with his tongue wipes the blood from his teeth.

“Because, you know what? Maybe I never fucking shook you, and now you’re like this fucking disease in my veins,” He digs his nails deeper leaving crescent-moon marks and smirks as Derek’s eyes flash red.  He’s been damned to hell because of this obsession, so what’s another dance with the devil?

“I thought I was okay, and then I hear your voice and every memory comes back. You clawed yourself in, you stupid fucking bastard, and you broke me! I thought maybe if I tried more, got better grades, spoke less, I would be good enough, maybe I could finally fucking get what I want. But how do you just walk away? How do you go from fucking me against walls, from breathing down, how I was yours to acting as though I’m an infection? I WANTED EVERYTHING WITH YOU!” And it’s him breaking so beautifully as he cries for every pulse of their heart beat, every unspoken word. It’s shattering and he crumbles as if it cripples him. He leans forward licking the prominent blue veins against the alabaster skin, tasting the sweat, feeling the ragged thump and _good_ , he thinks, he wants _this_ to kill Derek just as much as it killed him.  As he creeps up and speaks his secrets - the ones that lied in chambers of his hearts, marred by blood - the ones that hid in the spaces of his bones into the shell of Derek’s ear.

“I thought I could lose myself in all the pretty things you would do, like make me coffee in the mornings, put flowers on my mom’s grave, and come up behind me and wrap me up in your arms.

"I thought I could live in the safety of your arms."

For once, Stiles lowers his gaze from Derek’s stoic face, falling into the inevitable space that had created itself between them. For once, Stiles didn’t know what to tell, for all of his secrets have been spoken of. He could hear Derek’s heavy breathing; he could hear his own blood pumping fast within his very human body.

He pushes Derek back by the shoulders and watches as he stares up at him warily, defeated. A bitter laugh falls from his mouth - it sounds all different types of wrong, coming from him, but it’s been so many years since Stiles was anywhere near right.  

He hears Derek call for him but he just runs. He’s gotten good at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purposely short, I want you guys to really let the scene between these two sink into you. Read it twice, maybe three times, listen to the fan mix while reading it. But just let it seep.


	10. After the Storm

_In the gray beginnings of another year, in the dawn of things that began she sat, her legs dangling off the windowsill, pumping back and forth, gaining force with the strength of the morning air. She hailed from the moon but all know that she’s a child of light, of fresh breaths and love. She may jump from the ledge but she’ll always land._

_“Laura, he’s your mate.” Derek doesn’t add anything more – the statement in itself is enough – and he watches for her reaction._

_"Sometime…Well, sometimes you can't expect humans to understand what being a mate is. Landon is wild, he won't agree to the idea of a divine plan, of destiny." She turns around and Derek sees tears shining. Because for once Laura is allowing herself to be selfish – she doesn’t have to protect Derek this time, doesn’t have wrap him up in her leather jacket, doesn’t have to run her hands through soft spikes as the shackles of his humanity break and he turns into the wolf, roaring and screaming for hours._

_"And sometimes when you love someone what matters the most is keeping them happy and safe.” Laura fixes her eyes on Derek, the same tear-filled eyes, and in that momeng, Derek feels like he could move mountains just to make her smile again. “Even if it's not with you."_

_She stands and walks up to him, leaning on tip toes as she speaks into the crook of his neck, seeping the words into his very cells. It’s toxic and he wants to unhear them. Pretend they don’t exist because it’s an infection – disgusting and a lie, a dirty fucking lie. Mother had said so._

_“Der, sometimes, I think I’m a monster.”_

_Derek shakes his head. It’s a lie, mother had given kisses to his cheeks, painting them in bravery ‘They don’t know better Derek, you’re special, so special my beautiful boy, never a monster.’_

_If quiescent Laura Hale with the roaring of the wind through the trees in her ribs and the sun dripping from her tongue and clothed in muliebrity thought herself to be a monster, then Derek Hale was the devil himself._

  

He shouldn’t allow himself these things but…there he is screaming for _Stiles_.  But he’s rooted to the ground and all he can do is watch him walk away, again.   
  
Stiles was so easy to rely on because he was always there – calling him about research, showing up at the train depot with casseroles because ‘even if you’re immune to most things, I’m pretty sure starvation is not one of them, staying in between the covers with him after sex even when he snapped his teeth. It had reached the extent where he saw Stiles so much that he could almost begin to delude himself into thinking that he didn’t need him at all, that he didn’t crave him. 

How he could only feel humbled at times to be allowed in Stiles presence hoping that he could seep into Stiles skin like a tattoo.  Derek howls in his misery, destroying everything within his sight. He wants out, it had only been a day and the house reeks of Stiles, of his own story. It smelled of grass, of others blood that he could never washed out, of those cheap store bought strawberry shampoos, of the spices in his cooking, of the scent of sweat that soaked into his pillows from long nights of ravenous sex.

 

 

There’s a knock at his window.    
  
He throws a book at it hoping that Scott will just go away. He doesn’t need this.   
  
The knocking persists and yeah, _good job Scottie_ finally being considerate of his privacy but now is so not the time. He groans into his pillow before going up to the window and to say just that when a hand forces him back, a pair of long legs with curves a country mile wide that step through.   
  
“You’re an _idiot,_ Stilinski.”  Erica seethes her eyes flashing amber. 

Stiles actually takes a step back. Erica is wild. If people were colors she’d be a dark flaming red. Her heart and insides spilled out in front of her for the world to see, nothing but boundless pride. She paints her nails and lips red, red like blood, licks at them slowly in satisfaction of a kill, blood thirsty and craving what lies under skin, life. Maddening in a way that Stiles believes only pertains to female wolves. 

He swallows and knows it audible when she smirks and takes a step toward him, the heel of her boot like rocks against his wooden floor. She steps up to him, looking up from black lashes and honey brown eyes, her hand on his chest, spreading over his heart. Dragging up and down, nails catching on the fabric. She takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring and smiles in satisfaction – Stiles is sure his fear is the only thing she can smell.

 She spreads her hand one more time, her palm flat over his heart, feeling the lunge of his heart against her skin, and then she shoves him down. 

It’s in one quick fluid motion and she’s on top of him straddling him and holding his hands up over his head. Her other hand digging crescent moons into the groove of his hip. Stiles bucks under her trying to dislodge her, only to be laughed at by Erica, the high-pitch sound a thrilling noise, her own hips thrusting down on him. She makes a tutting noise and noses at his neck moving further down.   
  
She licks a straight strip, from his collar bone all the way to the end of his jaw, whispering softly to his ears, “Mmm, you smell like the woods.” A nip on his earlobe, “But, you don’t taste like them.” A lick behind the ear, “I guess no rutting against tree this time around?” A slow yet forceful roll of her hips on Stiles’ groin, “Silly, silly little Stiles, always running away. Not very Batman of you, is it? “ 

She places her hands under the hem of his shirt, dragging her claws softly against the skin, leaving long red lines that will fade away, as slow as that will take. She’s toying with him, and that is way worse than her just ripping his throat out. 

“No beauty marks there huh, dearie? So bare and pure, like a good little human.” 

And yet, Stiles doesn’t speak a word.

 “You really are stupid Stiles.” 

She lifts herself off and goes to stand against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, the pout on her mouth making her look childish and small as though nothing had happened previously.

 Stiles has no idea what she’s playing at. 

“He loves you, you know.”

 Stiles’ breath catches, taken aback.

 “You really thought he didn’t? You're his _mate,_ Stiles – it’s not a _casual fling_ or some bullshit. Derek...” She pauses and affection fills her gaze before she rolls them away.  “Derek is not good with feelings, with _his_ feelings. He doesn’t understand that just because he pushed you away, didn’t let you catch him watching you in the early morning, mumbling off rambles even in your sleep, remembered how everyone liked their coffees and not just yours he could fool himself that it was _just_ sex. If he was a little rougher, it would stop it all, could demolish the humanity of his emotions. Love, love is what saves the werewolf. It’s the strongest magic there is.  It links both sides to one another, it teaches you that the human and the wolf are connected, they are both you. “

 She turns around and looks out the window, picking at the bottom of her jacket, biting plump red lips. “I didn’t do right either. I’ve loved him and – and I won’t lie and pretend I didn’t because it’s near impossible not to love him when you’ve learned so much about him.”

 Stiles knows so well how easy it was to love Derek. It was like a plot progression, a simple narrative structure, where you have the exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and lastly the resolution. And Stiles knows, he knew even back then, that he and Derek was like two pendulum balls, destined to collide in the middle, where everything seems like a burden and yet he’s craving for anything, craving to be with Derek. 

The beginning…well, Stiles doesn’t necessarily remember all the nitty-gritty details of the exposition – only that their bodies collided and he remembers a cup (or three) of whiskey that night and a whole lot of alcohol talking on Stiles’ part. There were bruises and sucking, because all Stiles wanted was to leave bruises on the tan skin, to mark Derek the same way the other was clawing his ownership onto the canvas of his back. It’s loud and messy, and it probably sucked in the reality of it because Stiles was too drunk to be anything but sloppy. Derek didn’t complain, though. 

A few days later it was a frantic scramble up the stairs, bodies slick and cool – because Derek thinks the best way to shut Stiles the fuck up is to force their mouths together, teeth pulling and shirts hitching. This time there’s no alcohol, not that it was an excuse during the first time: the both of them had wanted it. Maybe since the moment they first met in the woods, along with Scott. But that’s how it starts, how the wheels continue to spin on and on, easy and fluid. 

The rising was less about their actions, even though there are many of those. Rough kisses when no one was looking, moans that come out like whines – and _fuck it_ if the pack’s downstairs, they can go home for all that the two of them care – tracing the dark ink of tattoos, constellations of scars in the making. It’s more about the things that they pretend aren’t there – the bitten smiles and the choking on simple words, too complicated words  that never make it out of their crushed mouths. 

Like how Stiles scent changes and ‘Fuck you Jackson I don’t need any cologne’. 

Like how Derek didn’t spend a few weeks watching Star Trek and then wondering what the fuck he had put himself through. 

Like the call in the middle of the night that Stiles never answers as he looks and grabs his red hoodie, shimmies off the roof and runs five houses down hops into the Camaro. 

Like the random package of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting that Derek found on a particularly bad day with no notes or anything, but the lingering sweet smell so familiar. 

The climax is all about how Stiles aches for him, for Derek. How it goes from being so easy and ‘ _wow, I get all the pleasures of a relationship with none of the work’_ , to ‘ _fuck, I’m in love with Derek Hale_ ’. How the only time Stiles allows those words to exist is when they are both sleeping, chest to back as closely as they could, warm breath stroking the back of Stiles’ neck. The second one is the smile on Stiles face, and Derek’s pleading kisses, open mouth and desperate when he comes back to the house from the cemetery on the anniversary of his families death, flowers already there. It’s about how they go days avoiding each other but then they bump into each other in the middle of school, ‘Seriously man?  Isaac’s professor told me he is doing poorly in English.’ It’s about dusk, because the sun and moon can only avoid each other for so long.  

The falling action is where Stiles finally accustomed himself with the word broken hearted.

 And there’s no end – not really, _not yet_. Even if flying away, 2,771 miles always seemed like the end back then, it’s not, just a stretch of the middle. Love doesn’t end Stiles knows. 

Erica’s fingers find Stiles’ wrist, and the soft touch feels like a bolt of electricity, shocking and calming at the same time, bringing Stiles back to ground from the clouds of his mind. Still, Stiles brings his hand to his chest, cradles it with his other hand. Erica seems to take the hint well, taking a step and another back towards the opened window. “I know how much you loved him,” Erica says, her eyes lost in the shadow of her own mind. “I know that for however blind love made you, that you were never blinded to what had begun with Derek and I. I destroyed a world, a galaxy on it’s own with my lust. I know what it is to be mated now and I – I understand it now and I would _kill_ me if I were you.”

 Stiles maintains his stance, not talking and not once blinking lest Erica pounce on him again. “I’m not asking you to ever forgive me; I’ve hurt you too much.”

 Her eyes find Stiles in the darkness, and Stiles holds his breath, in anticipation.  

 “But please, _please_ forgive Derek, forgive my Alpha. He has denied himself every bit of happiness. Built a home, a castle of sanctuaries with all of us kept in mind. A pool because it keeps Isaac calm doing strokes in the middle of the night, a gate around that pool because Allison yearns for cubs, a wrap around porch because Lydia is obsessed with The Notebook, nothing but grass for yards because Jackson likes walking barefoot. He gave himself nothing but a room that he kept bare but for a picture of our pack. He used to hate sleeping on the right side of the bed but you proclaimed that the left was your side and still to this day he sleeps on the right. Heck, he keeps the pantry stacked with Twizzlers when we know the only person who even remotely likes that disgusting candy is you. “ 

She turns then, facing the window, her hand steadying herself as she duck down a little. And human as Stiles is, he still hear the last thing Erica said before she leapt out through the window, her elegance never leaving her side even when doing something as mind-blowingly creepy as leaping through someone’s window on the second floor. 

“Please, he has loved you every single day, and he still does.”

 

 _Fucking werewolves_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it's taken so long to post the next chapter. Unfortunately this semester has been a strenuous one and I had to focus on school. But here's the next chapter, FINALLY! I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Please be honest since it took me a while to get this chapter how I wanted it. And I re-wrote it a couple of times. Erica is much too difficult to write.


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